


Decency & Desire

by Anonymous



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barbecue, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sweet/Hot, Teen Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, this is the one you might have heard about, originally posted on LiveJournal in 2011.  I put it here.  I did not write it.</p><p>Arthur has a crush on his next door neighbor, Eames.<br/>He gets more than he bargained for when he moves in for a kiss.  So much more.</p><p>Very little plot, <i>amazing</i> everything else.  </p><p>Age is not provided, but Arthur seems about 16 or 17, Eames about 19 or 21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Found on Live Journal as an Inception Anonymous Kink Meme fill. 
> 
> This is not my work.  
> Original story is [here](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39476763#t39476763)
> 
> No attempt is being made to usurp the ownership of this fic - it was originally posted anonymously. It is being copied here only so that it finds more readers. It is really too good to be missed.

\------

On more than one occasion in the past, Eames had proved himself to be a quite decent guy. He remembers, for example, that time in grade four when he’d seen one of his classmates looking at a stuffed toy during their school trip before quickly putting it away in his backpack when the teacher had announced that they’d reached their destination. Nine-year-old Eames had kept his mouth shut, despite the knowledge that his friends would have found the story hilarious. Three years later, he’d refused to join the choirs of “Tom Wanks” and instead had tried to concentrate on his task, because seriously, “Forrest Gump” was a good movie. And nowadays, as a good student but at the same time annoyed roommate, he kindly resists blurting out that Johnny Smith, the epitome of success and snootiness, is quite fond of lesbian porn.  
  
True, for most of his mates that wouldn’t even be on their lists of 'secrets -nobody-must-know-about' but Johnny Smith is a weird person, and telling people about his most closely guarded secret would either break him or make him move out of Eames’s room.  
  
If he’s honest, Eames is quite enamored with the latter option, only that’s where it all collides with his decency. That’s also the reason why he agrees on waiting for Arthur’s parents when the boy opens the door with nothing but a towel around his hips and wet from a shower. As a decent guy, Eames thinks as he sits down on the sofa, he should wait and see what his neighbor needs help with.  
  
Arthur Cohen is his neighbor’s son and had surprised Eames quite badly when they’d seen each other two days ago after a few lengthy months. His chesty voice and long limbs speak of another growth spurt. Eames doesn’t even try to analyze why he’d noticed that – the Brown twins across the street certainly aren’t the little kids they once used to be, but Eames can’t remember when they’d grown out of their matching clothes and gap-toothed smiles.   
  
Arthur Cohen, however, had caught Eames’s attention the moment he'd gotten out of his car on a too hot March day. Spring break had brought him back home and unfortunately also to Arthur’s new body. The boy had been absorbed in yard work it seemed, but that moment he caught sight of Eames he’d waved and smiled at him, his shirt hanging open in juvenile recklessness and joy of the very first sunny day after a long winter.  
  
Surprised by all the new things about the boy, Eames had found himself remembering all the times he’d caught Arthur watching or smiling at him whenever they saw each other.  
  
Maybe he is the juvenile one after all.  
  
And now Arthur practically storms downstairs and appears in the doorway few moments later.   
  
“Hi,” he says. There’s a big smile on his face, and his hair is still wet and sticking to his forehead. Eames shouldn’t try to remember that, but he can’t help it.  
  
“Hi.” He clears his throat. “So do you know what your Dad needed help with?”  
  
“No, not really,” Arthur shrugs, sitting down next to Eames. “I guess something with his computer ‘cos of your major.”   
  
He smiles and Eames nods. “Right.”  
  
“Does that happen often?”  
  
“What? That people take advantage of my hard-earned knowledge about computers and all that stuff?”  
  
Arthur’s smile must hurt. “Yeah.”  
  
\------

“Every now and again, yes,” Eames admits, his own mouth twitching to a small smile.  
  
“But you don’t mind?”  
  
“No, of course not.” Eames smiles.  
  
Arthur settles against the soft cushion of the couch and zaps around for a moment until he finds something that’s good enough. “So how’s college so far?” he asks.  
  
“Pretty normal I guess,” Eames says. “Nothing like I’ve expected but that’s hardly ever the case, is it?”  
  
“But you like it?”  
  
“Yeah. What about you?” Eames takes a handful of popcorn when Arthur offers it. “Any plans yet?”  
  
“Yes, I’m going to the same university like you because I –” Arthur blurts out, then stops abruptly. “Never mind.”  
  
Eames thinks there’s a blush spreading across Arthur’s cheeks.  
  
“What do you wanna study?”  
  
“Architecture.”  
  
“Well that’s pretty…”  _Don’t say cool, don’t say cool,_  Eames thinks, “… cool.”  
  
Arthur smiles and puts the popcorn bowl on the table. “Thirsty?” he asks. Arthur’s boxers have ridden up his legs and as he stands to get them something to drink Eames has a frantic urge to push him into the floor and bite his thigh. He bites his lip instead and is suddenly  _very_  thirsty.  
  
For a while they sit in silence watching the movie. Eames tries to concentrate on the scarce comments from the hero and the fake-looking explosions as if it would distract him from the warm body next to his and the highly inappropriate images floating through his head.  
  
Well, at least he tries, he tells himself when next to him Arthur shifts. Suddenly Eames realizes that the testosterone-ridden hero is not bothering to please his audience with his witty comments anymore. Both, his insightful statements and the explosions have been replaced by silent and yet audible kissing. The screen is mostly dark, but Eames can still make out two bodies writhing against each other.  
  
Arthur shifts again, pointing the remote control at the TV. “Do you…?” He clears his throat. “I – I – do you mind – should I change the channel? I mean –”  
  
“No, I’m alright,” Eames says and as he turns his head to look at him his eyes widen a little bit. Arthur’s paused in his movement, his arm stretched out and his mouth hanging open. He stares at Eames, or more exactly, at his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded and glued to it.  
  
Eames tries to think of something to say but there is only one thing on his mind. Suddenly all he wants is to lean forward and press his mouth to Arthur’s pink lips. He wants to see what he can do to him when only a kissing scene has him looking like this. He wants to wreck him.  
  
“Arthur,” he says, but Arthur keeps staring, his arm flops down between their bodies. The kissing scene is long over and Arthur still can’t look away. Neither can Eames now. The lazy drop of Arthur’s eyelashes, the blush across his cheeks, his mouth hanging open in wonder or hunger, Eames isn’t sure yet, all of it is intoxicating right now.  
  
Slowly Eames leans forward and as suddenly as Arthur has started to look at him like he wanted to eat him, he starts gasping the moment Eames moves an inch forward. Their lips are almost touching and Eames drops his hand on Arthur’s thigh right where he wants to put his teeth instead. Arthur’s whole body jolts up at that and their noses bump against each other, Eames’s lips sliding across Arthur’s chin.  
  
“Arthur, we’re back!”  
  
Eames almost jumps to his feet as he hears Mr. Cohen’s voice, and Arthur must feel the same for he immediately stands on shaky legs and rushes to the door. Eames thinks he can hear them talking but it’s only noise which doesn’t make any sense.  
  
“Eames,” Mr. Cohen says, “thanks for coming over.”  
  
Silently, Eames takes a deep breath. Behind Mr. Cohen’s shoulder he sees Arthur’s legs running upstairs to his room.   
  
“No problem,” he says, trying to smile. “So what is it?”  
  
”Could you take a look at my computer, it makes really weird stuff sometimes.”  
  
“Sure,” Eames says and gets up.  
  
As they head to Mr. Cohen’s work room Eames finds himself wanting to run upstairs and just grab Arthur and–   
  
Shit.

\------

 


	2. Chapter 2

\------

Eames is trying to knock his Dad’s old car into shape the next evening when he realizes that he’s being watched. He looks up and in the light from his neighbor’s opened front door Eames sees Arthur’s lean body shifting from one foot to the other and then stopping abruptly. He nods at him and decides that he’s done enough work today. He’s absolutely not running away from Arthur. Hastily he puts the toolbox away and washes his hands in the small sink in the garage. When he is about to go in he sees Arthur has walked over and is standing at the low fence between their houses now. It seems the boy doesn’t own any jeans. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt again which only reminds Eames of last night.  
  
“Eames.”  
  
“Hey, Arthur.”  
  
He looks up briefly, then gets the toolbox again and starts to organize it painstakingly to distract himself.  
  
“I remember this car,” Arthur says suddenly, looking at the old Jeep Cherokee. “I mean, I remember when you got your driver's license and you’d drive around all those girls and guys.”  
  
Eames walks over and Arthur seems nervous. “And I’d stand over here and watch.”  
  
“Arthur–”  
  
“Do you want to come over?” Arthur bites his lip. “My parents are visiting my aunt and I’m bored.” Eames remembers that. He’s watched Mr. and Mrs. Cohen pack their things earlier today, vainly trying not to think of –  
  
Arthur shivers. It’s not as warm as it was last week and Eames can see goosebumps on his skin. “Go back inside, it’s cold,” he says.  
  
“But do you want to come over?” Arthur quickly asks.  
  
Eames thinks of his old friends. He’s seen them already on his first day here but he should call them and meet up again. He thinks of the pictures one of his mates has sent him of scantily clad girls and alcohol. Oddly enough he doesn’t feel he’s in the wrong place.  
  
Looking up at Arthur he nods.  
  
There is something akin to fear written all over the boy’s face but it disappears quickly and he smiles. “Great!”  
  
“Go back in, I won’t take long.”  
  
\------  
  
Eames thinks he’s lost the right to worry about anything that might happen tonight the moment he’s agreed to spend his evening with his neighbor’s teenage son. That’s also why he’s not worrying about the fact that Arthur leads him to his room immediately after he opens the door with a wide grin on his face.  
  
“Oh that’s pretty cool,” Eames says as he looks at the posters and drawings all over the walls. “You like to draw.”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says. He walks over to the window and pushes the curtains aside a bit. “Look, that’s where you used to park your car, next to the street lamp.”  
  
His voice is low, like he’s saying something out loud that has been kept secret for a long time. Eames isn’t even sure he knows that he’s saying it out loud.  
  
“Arthur–“  
  
Quickly Arthur moves away from his window. “Sit down.” He gestures to his bed and Eames sits down.  
  
“So,” he says and kneels down on the floor next to his TV. “What do you wanna watch?”  
  
“What do  _you_  wanna watch?”

\------

Arthur’s lips turn upwards and he tosses his DVDs away. He sits down on the bed, too close to Eames, his knee pressing into Eames’s thigh.  
  
“What do you want to do?”  
  
For a while Arthur doesn’t look up from his lap. When he does his cheeks are flushed and his eyes dark. Eames wonders whether Arthur would still look at him like that if he knew what he’s thinking of right now.  
  
“I – I’ve seen you with a guy,” Arthur starts to say. “I mean, I’ve seen you kissing a guy once.” He sounds breathless and Eames is a bastard for he likes that. It doesn’t make him want to run and hide. It just makes him aware of how good Arthur sounds when he’s out of breath.  
  
“And?” Eames asks. He’s a bad person. He really is. There is a spark inside him now which he is not willing to ignore.  
  
Arthur looks at his hands in his lap, his hair falling across his forehead, then one warm shaky hand reaches for Eames’s cheek. His movements are quick and jerky. The kiss he presses to the corner of Eames’s mouth is chaste and shy.  
  
Quickly he moves away then, playing with his fingers as he looks down and biting his lower lip. His dark eyelashes are thick and long, a contrast to his pale skin and reddened cheeks.  
  
Eames makes a bad decision then. But he’s read somewhere that bad decisions make the best stories, and he wholeheartedly hopes that that’s true.

\------


	3. Chapter 3

\------

He grabs Arthur’s shoulders and pulls him closer to press their lips together again. The kiss is slow and languid and nothing like Arthur’s peck on the corner of his mouth. It makes the boy tremble beautifully in his arms which Eames really shouldn’t be proud of.  
  
“Open your mouth,” Eames whispers against Arthur’s lips, tightening his grip on his neck as the boy tries to move away. “Open it.”  
  
Hesitantly Arthur does as he’s told, whimpering as Eames licks into his mouth and suddenly digging his fingers into Eames’s chest. He pants against Eames’s mouth and tries to mimic his actions but mostly ends up opening his mouth wider as Eames almost devours him.  
  
Sliding his hand down to the curve of his spine, Eames tries to ignore the twitch in his cock at how easy Arthur bends and goes the way he wants him; there is no resistance in the lithe body and Eames tries not to think how easy it would be to hold him down and take whatever he wants.  
  
“Your – your tongue,” Arthur gasps. Eagerly, he has climbed onto Eames’s lap – his body seems to know what it wants despite his startled voice.  
  
“Good?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur croaks.  
  
He’s all heavy and lazy limbs in Eames’s embrace, his pulse thumping strongly through his body and making Eames wonder how little it’ll take until he won't be able to put a coherent sentence together anymore.  
  
“Has nobody kissed you like this before?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Arthur’s face is red and Eames is quite sure that – he pulls him closer until he feels Arthur’s erection against his hip. Arthur’s mouth falls open on a silent moan and he buries his face in Eames’s neck.  
  
Eames grins, he's that wicked. Carefully he pushes Arthur into the mattress.  
  
As long as he remembers, he’s always loved pushing his lovers down and kissing them until their lips would be bruised and appealingly red. It has always made him mad with want and unable to control himself. With Arthur, with his responsive trembling body and his tiny gasps, it’s almost an entirely new experience, so strong that only after one kiss Eames finds himself already itching to pull Arthur’s clothes off and spread his legs.  
  
Slowly he presses their hips together, rolling experimentally and grinding his erection against Arthur’s.  
  
The boy gasps beautifully and pushes himself away from Eames and up against the headboard of his bed. He looks small and unsure, trapped between Eames’s body and the headboard. A nervous wreck.  
  
“S-sorry,” he says. “I – sorry.”  
  
Eames smiles gently at him and sets his mind to let Arthur decide when to take a step forward. Arthur beams up at him when Eames assures him that there is no reason to apologize and Eames has a sudden realization that maybe that’s all Arthur has hoped for: a kiss.  
  
He sits up but can’t keep his hands to himself and strokes Arthur’s leg.  
  
“That was nice,” Arthur says silently, ignoring the erection in his pants. But the agony of trying to resist is written all over his face.  
  
“I’m glad you think so,” Eames grins. He considers just going for Arthur’s boxer and pulling them off when he catches sight of a picture of himself on Arthur’s night table. He reaches for it and Arthur’s body stiffens.  
  
The picture was taken at one of Mr. Cohen’s barbecues last summer, Eames can tell that much. He’s shirtless and pointing at the camera with a football in his hand and an ugly cap on his head. His other arm is wrapped around Arthur’s shoulder, and that’s the Arthur he knew. Young and just the little boy next door. Young Arthur is smiling at the photographer, pressed into Eames’s side.  
  
“Hmm,” Eames says, “interesting.”

\------


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, this is a copy of an anonymous post on LiveJournal. I did not write it.
> 
> The original fic can be found [here](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39476763#t39476763).

\------

When he looks back at Arthur, the boy’s face is flushed red and he’s watching him with big round eyes.  
  
Holding the picture like a key to everything he wants, Eames sits down next to him, leaning against the headboard and wrapping his arm around him like in the photograph.  
  
“Come here,” he whispers with the voice he’s used on men to make them suck his dick, and he thinks he can actually hear Arthur swallow.  
  
“What?” Arthur says.  
  
It’s awkward and clumsy, the way he tries to sit in Eames’s lap, but then Eames just grabs him and pulls him between his spread legs, pressing Arthur’s back against his chest. His dick is trapped between their bodies and Eames just wants to rub against Arthur until he comes.  
  
He holds the photograph in front of Arthur and the boy reaches quickly for it as if it is a secret; something he has to hide. But Eames doesn’t let go. He wraps his fingers around Arthur’s wrist and holds on. Carefully, so as not to overdo things, he noses through Arthur’s hair and then puts his mouth very close to his ear.  
  
“Arthur,” he says. The boy is rigid hot muscles in his arms. Everywhere Eames touches him he feels like he’s burning up. “Do you like this picture?”  
  
Arthur shifts in his arms, and then stops abruptly as he realizes he’s rubbing the small of his back against Eames’s dick. “Yes.”  
  
“Show me how much,” Eames whispers before biting his ear gently and licking at it. Arthur’s comes apart in his arms. He moans softly and his hips shoot up off the bed. Unconsciously he keeps moving his hips and those tiny thrusts cause Eames’s dick to harden even more.  
  
He bites his lip to control himself.  
  
“Come on, show me how you do it,” he says and Arthur trembles violently.  
  
In order to calm him down a bit Eames lets go of his wrist and runs his hands over Arthur’s legs and arms, then up to his shoulders to softly massage the tension out of him. Unfortunately, his actions elicit the exact opposite reaction. Arthur pants silently and writhes each time Eames presses his fingers to a spot that feels too good. Maybe he’s approached this in a wrong way, Eames thinks and with a wet kiss below Arthur’s ear he reaches for Arthur’s t-shirt and pulls it off. Slowly he runs his hands over the soft hot skin. Arthur’s body is in bloom. The flesh beneath Eames’s fingers is soft and yet he feels hard muscles waiting to strengthen even more.  
  
“Okay?” he asks.  
  
Arthur moans sweetly which is answer enough for now. Kissing his way over Arthur’s shoulders Eames buries his face in his neck, feeling the fresh sweat there. His hands drop to Arthur’s thighs and they spread invitingly, but instead of touching his cock, Eames reaches for Arthur’s hand and pulls it to his own mouth.  
  
Watching Arthur intensively Eames slowly licks the boy’s palm because he’s a bastard. He knows what that looks like; his fat lips sucking gently and his tongue wet and red. Arthur’s reaction certainly doesn’t disappoint. The boy presses closer to Eames’s back as if he’s trying to hide, then his heavy-lidded eyes glaze over. He swallows audibly, his mouth snapping open after that, and Eames thinks  _Yesyes_.

\------

“Do you know what I want you to do?” Eames whispers against Arthur’s wet palm.  
  
“I –” Arthur says, his pulse throbs strongly in his wrist, and Eames thinks it’s good enough that he hasn’t moved away. Slowly he moves his other hand over Arthur’s arm, his chest and then down to his hip to push the tips of his fingers suggestively in. Arthur is panting and Eames is glad he hasn’t looked away yet. Holding his gaze, he starts licking at his palm again while at the same time he slips his fingers in and cups Arthur’s balls. The boy inhales shakily at that and his whole body arches off the bed. He doesn’t breathe until Eames – slightly worried about him – lets go of him.  
  
Eames spits on Arthur’s palm and pulls his boxers down to expose his hard cock. Slowly he guides the boy’s wet hand down to it. Arthur still hasn’t looked away and as Eames makes him wrap his fingers around his own throbbing dick, Arthur presses their lips together again. Eames’s grip around his hand tightens but as he buries his other hand into Arthur’s hair to hold him and kiss him properly he doesn’t let him stroke himself because he knows it’ll end too soon if he does. He doesn’t think Arthur can bear touching himself and having a tongue in his mouth and not come. His body is writhing between Eames’s legs, pressing against his hard dick which is not even nearly enough to make him come but it’s very distracting and frustrating.  
  
With a moan Eames wrenches his mouth away from Arthur’s lips and kisses his ear instead.  
  
“Go on,” he whispers, “show me.”  
  
Arthur whimpers and brings the picture closer to his face, his hand shaking visibly. The hand wrapped around his dick shakes as well and even though he wants to he doesn’t ask Eames to loosen his grip and let him get off.  
  
Eames bites his lip so as not to moan.  
  
He only lets go of Arthur’s hand when he sees that the creases on the photograph fit perfectly under Arthur’s firm grip. Of course he’s assumed it but to have it there right in front of his eyes, a proof that Arthur’s jerked off to this picture causes his dick to jerk violently in his jeans.  
  
The boy breathes out in relief when Eames lets him and his hand flies over his dick, spreading Eames’s spit and pre-come as he writhes and pushes his hips up.  
  
“Beautiful,” Eames whispers. “What do you think of?”  
  
“Your chest,” Arthur croaks and Eames pulls his own t-shirt off to press his naked chest to Arthur’s back. It makes the boy shudder against him and spread his legs further. The thumb of his left hand runs over Eames’s body in the photograph and Eames is sure that Arthur doesn’t even know what that does to him. He runs his hands over Arthur’s body, then squeezes his thighs.  
  
“Yeah,” he moans as Arthur kicks his boxers completely off in the heat of the moment. “Oh yes.” He spreads Arthur’s thighs and pulls him back against his dick.  
  
“Is that what you did last night when you ran off to your room?”  
  
Arthur’s hand stutters on his dick and he moans.  
  
“Did you jerk off looking at this picture?”

Eames tries to take a look at Arthur’s face and when he sees his flushed cheeks and the way he stares at the picture he grinds stronger against him. He wants to make him feel it.

“Or did you –” his voice trails off as he slips his hands beneath Arthur and spreads him open, one tentative finger rubbing against his hole, and Arthur cries out then and comes all over himself. His body is rocked by violent spasms and Eames just holds him.  
  
“Jesus,” he whispers, not sure if Arthur even hears it. The photograph is lying on his chest, the fingers of his other hand still loosely wrapped around his slowly softening cock. He’s heavy in Eames’s arms, all tension has left his body now. When he lets go of himself and drags his hand across his stomach he slowly turns his head to look at Eames. It’s fascinating how the tension immediately slips back into his posture.  
  
Eames smiles at him. “Fuck, that was hot,” he says and rolls his hips against Arthur. The boy’s mouth falls open and he presses his face to Eames’s.  
  
“Did you enjoy that?”  
  
Arthur laughs. “Yes,” he says and holds still for Eames to kiss him.  
  
“Can I touch you?” Eames asks.  
  
Arthur nods, his face hot against Eames’s.

\------


	5. Chapter 5

\------

He’s not prepared for Eames to touch him right then, though. The cry that leaves his mouth is loud in the silence around them, reminding Eames that this is Arthur Cohen, his neighbor’s son. But suddenly Eames also remembers the two months when he was head over heels in love with his Biology teacher. Retrospectively, he knows that he just had a crush on him. At the age of fifteen, though, he was absolutely certain that he would love the tall blue-eyed man forever. At that time he was the reason for every one of his wet dreams, after all. Two months later, however, the ardent love he’d felt was gone without leaving any visible marks on Eames except that from then on and for a very long time his Biology book made him hornier than anything else.  
  
The point is that Eames knows Arthur has a crush on him. It’s normal at his age. What he also knows is that at fifteen, in those two months, he wanted nothing more than his Biology teacher to touch him like he is touching Arthur now, and judging by Arthur’s reactions, he feels the same.  
  
Why not just give him a good time then?  
  
“Ah, ah,” Arthur moans. The photograph slips from his hand and that’s all Eames needs to snap out of his thoughts. He turns the boy around to face him. Impatiently now he reaches for his own jeans and unbuttons them, then presses their dicks together and smears Arthur’s come all over them. Arthur looks down and licks his lips. It’s possibly the sexiest thing Eames has seen in a while. What makes it that bit better is the fact that Arthur doesn’t even know what he’s doing to Eames with all those tiny moans and unconscious actions.  
  
Eames keeps stroking them until Arthur buries his hands in his own curly hair and pulls at it with his eyes pressed tightly shut. His whole body is taut, muscles straining under soft flushed skin. It’s not fair to keep touching him, Eames knows. He’s too sensitive so soon after coming, but he writhes so beautifully in his lap and his whole body jerks when Eames rubs too firmly against the wet swollen head of his dick. At one point the jerks get weaker until Arthur is caught in a moment where his body is so overstimulated that he just takes it; takes everything. He doesn’t even breathe. Eames thinks it would be crueler to stop touching him now. But he still has to make sure he doesn’t hurt him too much.  
  
“Should I stop?” he gasps, so close himself.  
  
Arthur’s hands drop to Eames’s legs behind him, taking hold of the fabric of his jeans and pulling like that’s the only thing that keeps him from bursting to pieces. He leans back and with his chest and belly stretched, it looks like he’s showing off. Eames is sure, though, that he’s just too close to care about anything other than the need to come.  
  
With sweat rolling down his face and throat Arthur shakes his head and fixes his gaze on Eames. The breath he’s been holding stutters out of his mouth as a moan.  
  
“Fuck yeah,” Eames whispers.  
  
Arthur seems mindless now, desperate for anything that’ll get him off. He starts rocking his hips and after that it’s just a few more strokes until he comes and his body trembles once before melting on Eames’s lap. He pushes Eames over the edge with another heart-wrenching moan as his arms give out and he falls back on Eames’s legs, probably stretching the muscles in his thighs to a painful degree.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Eames groans.  
  
He holds on until he can feel Arthur soften and his body going very still.

“Are you alright?”  
  
Arthur smiles sleepily up at him and finally stretches his legs out. “Yes.”  
  
“That’s good,” Eames says. He sits up, then leans over him to kiss his lips and cheek. His hands slide over Arthur’s ribs, smearing more come into his skin.  
  
“That tickles,” Arthur chuckles.  
  
Eames smiles down at him. “You look tired.”  
  
“I’m not,” Arthur quickly says. His lazy limbs and sleepy eyes belie his words, but if he wants more then that’s what he’ll get.  
  
“But I’m thirsty.”  
  
Eames’s mind doesn’t jump to a scenario where he makes Arthur open his mouth as wide as he can to slowly feed him his cock inch after inch and then fill his mouth up with come until Arthur can’t breathe anymore. No, that would be too childish.  
  
“Okay, stay here,” Eames says. He reaches for his t-shirt and cleans them both hastily. There is no need to do it properly – soon enough he’ll get him dirty again.  
  
When Eames comes back with a water bottle Arthur is still naked and lying on his bed, but he’s dragged the blanket over his hips, smiling up at Eames when he sits down next to him.  
  
“Thanks,” he says.  
  
Arthur’s fingers tremble when he takes the bottle, and Eames thinks that maybe he’s gone a bit too far. But then he sees the boy eyeing his jeans which he’s buttoned up again – apparently there is still a bit decency somewhere inside him since he just hasn’t found the courage to walk around Mr. Cohen’s house naked. Arthur is affectionate and cuddly, almost sitting in Eames’s lap again and touching his chest and shoulders chastely. He laughs at everything Eames says and Eames is certain that Arthur’s aware of the blanket slipping down his hips a bit more every time he moves. He’s probably doing it on purpose. When he presses his surprisingly small-looking hand to Eames’s broad chest and looks at him long enough to blush a little, it’s too much.  
  
He’s fucking asking for it, Eames thinks.

\------


	6. Chapter 6

_______

“Arthur,” Eames says, wrapping one arm around his lean shoulders. “How much do you know about sex between men?”  
  
Arthur takes a while to gather enough courage to speak. Eames pictures him older, more experienced, maybe a little stronger and taller. He imagines meeting him somewhere at a motel well-known for hosting quickies. He pictures them at his room; Arthur as a fellow student sneaking in his room at night to suck him off or ride his dick.  
  
Strangely none of those scenarios feel good enough. Of course they are jerk-off material but there’s just something off about them. Apparently Eames is suddenly convinced that there is nothing quite as good as having untouched young Arthur pressed against him, building up his courage to tell Eames how he wants it. It’s not surprising, though, Eames has always found risky situations more appealing than intimidating.  
  
“A few things,” Arthur finally says.  
  
“From porn?”  
  
Eames loves the way Arthur bites his lip and suddenly seems like he’s trying to hide beneath the blanket even though he doesn't move at all.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes cast down. “And TV and just people I guess.”  
  
Eames keeps watching him.  
  
“There’s this guy at school,” Arthur continues, “everybody knows he’s gay, even the teachers, and he’s so loud and not really … um, discreet about it.”  
  
Eames smiles. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well he says stuff like – like “I would fuck him” or “I’d like to put my dick in his ass” or something like that,” Arthur quickly says.  
  
Eames remains silent as he watches Arthur’s fingers tug at the edge of the blanket. Slowly he brings the hand that’s resting on Arthur’s shoulder to his jaw to make him finally turn his head. With his mouth hanging open Arthur looks back at him. He breathes laboriously, and Eames is a bastard for he makes him wait. Teasingly he leans in, close enough to make Arthur’s breath hitch a little bit, but then moves away the moment their lips brush. His hand at Arthur’s jaw is holding him in place. Heartlessly, as if he doesn’t know what it’s doing to Arthur, he presses his other hand to his chest, sliding it over warm skin and erect nipples.  
  
“Would you let me do that to you?” he asks in a steady and low voice. “Would you let me put my dick in your ass?”  
  
Arthur gapes at him and Eames thinks if he were bolder he would’ve kissed him. He would’ve jumped on him and kissed him right then. That’s what his expression looks like anyway; like he wants to eat him alive but just doesn't know it yet.  
  
Arthur swallows. “Yes,” he whispers.  
  
“Arthur,” Eames smiles reassuringly at him, then leans in to actually kiss him this time, to reward him. The kiss is rougher than before. Eames even sinks his teeth in Arthur’s lower lip a few times. In turn he has the boy melting in his arms.  
  
When Eames presses their bodies tightly together, Arthur pulls away a bit for the first time this night.  
  
“But,” he says breathless, “does it – does it hurt?”  
  
Eames pulls him to sit on his lap again. “I’ll make it good for you,” he says. “I’ll make it so it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. He leans down again to press their lips together, and Eames holds his face in his hands. The boy looks nervous now, as if he’s expecting Eames to pounce on him and hold him down.  
  
“But you have to promise me something,” Eames says. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you change your mind.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Eames smiles at him and slides his coarse hands over the sensitive skin on Arthur’s chest. He tucks his knees up to press Arthur closer to him, and the movement causes the muscles in thighs to flex. Arthur’s eyes widen at that. They move hungrily over Eames’s chest and shoulders, and Eames imagines him when Arthur knows what he wants; when he discovers that he gets off on someone holding him down and just taking him.  
  
“Do you like that?” Eames grins, flexing the muscles in his arms.  
  
Arthur watches open-mouthed. “Yeah,” he says.  
  
“You can touch me, y’know.”  
  
Tentatively Arthur reaches out and puts his hands on Eames’s upper arms, his fingers curving over the hard warm flesh there. He moves his hands over Eames’s arms, his shoulder and neck. With each passing moment he gets bolder, gets more into it, and Eames doesn’t even has to exaggerate the moan that leaves his mouth when Arthur digs his nails in his chest and scrapes against his nipples. It just slips from his mouth, but with Arthur squirming on his dick it’s not really a surprise.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur gasps. He keeps rubbing his chest, paying more attention to his nipples now, and Eames feels a surge of affection for him and pulls him in his arms. They rock against each other for a while, causing the blanket to slip from Arthur’s hips.  
  
“Can I – can I?” Arthur gasps, but he can’t finish the sentence. Eames’s tongue in his ear seems to distract him. That or Eames’s hands squeezing his ass cheeks and  _pulling_.  
  
“Eames…”  
  
“Alright?”  
  
When Eames pulls back he sees Arthur gazing down at his crotch and biting his lip, then his eyes slowly move back up to Eames’s. In a year or two when Arthur won’t be new to all these sensations, he’ll look at people like that and get from them whatever he desires, Eames is sure. Right now, that look makes Eames’s dick twitch in his jeans.  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers, “go on, do it.”  
  
Arthur licks his lips and gently traces the outline of Eames’s cock with his fingers. A breathless moan works its way up his throat when Eames grabs his hand and pushes it harder against his own dick and balls.  
  
“Yeah, like that,” he gasps, thrusting up against Arthur’s hand and moaning when the boy rubs his fingers harder.  
  
“You’ve never touched anyone before,” Eames says.  
  
Arthur shakes his head and thankfully doesn’t pull his hand away when Eames lets go of it to unbutton his jeans. He pulls the fabric down just far enough to tempt the boy. Silently Eames is inviting him to slip his hand in and touch him. He puts his arms behind his head and smiles at Arthur to make it obvious.  
  
Gently Arthur pulls his jeans down a bit more and wraps his fingers around Eames’s cock. He gasps as he does it, and Eames’s eyes land on the wet tip of the boy’s dick, jutting out obscenely. He licks his lips and then closes his eyes as Arthur starts to stroke him.

______

“Show me how you do it to yourself,” Eames says.  
  
Arthur’s fingers slide more confidently over his dick then, and after a few short moments he starts rubbing his own cock against Eames. His thighs tighten around Eames’s and he almost rides it, his grasp around Eames’s cock slackening again.  
  
Eames chuckles and Arthur’s cheeks turn red as he snaps out of it and stops humping his thigh.  
  
“S-sorry,” he gasps. Eames can’t help but grab his face and pull him in for a kiss.  
  
“Gorgeous,” he whispers against his lips.  
  
Arthur smiles, then suddenly moves down until his lips are so very close to Eames’s dick that it looks like a filthy sex fantasy coming true. Usually those things happen only in porn films, Eames thinks, before he can't think at all.  
  
“I’ve seen this in a movie once,” Arthur explains before he boldly puts the head of Eames’s dick to his lips as if to make up for getting carried away a little. His lips open slightly, not nearly enough to take it all in but they’re wet and hot and his tongue is even hotter when it licks at Eames’s cock hesitantly.  
  
Eames quickly grasps the base of his cock. He can’t remember any other time when such a simple action has made him react like this.  
  
Enough is enough, he decides.  
  
“Arthur,” he says and pulls him up.  
  
The boy keeps his hands to himself and frowns. “Am I doing it wrong?”  
  
Eames shakes his head and kisses him hard, pressing him into the mattress.  
  
“Wait here,” he says.  
  
In the bathroom he rummages through every cabinet, hoping to find something …  
  
“Bingo,” he says.  
  
Contrary to how he would’ve reacted under normal circumstances, he doesn’t even flinch now as he finds a bottle of lube in  _Mr. Cohen’s_  bathroom cabinet. A hard dick clearly saves you from unnecessary feelings of guilt and the like. Maybe it’s also Arthur; the longer Eames is around him the dirtier he gets. Anyhow, he’s read a book once about a guy whose life has changed within one hour which he’s spent with an old soldier. Granted, there have been drugs experiments which have probably influenced the course of the protagonist’s life more than anything else, but the point is - Eames isn't comparing tonight's events with that book, fuck no, he can't think - the point is people change. Maybe Eames won’t even offer his seat to elderly ladies on the bus anymore. Maybe that’s how badass he’ll be from now on, who knows.  
  
Eames laughs at his own thoughts and catches his reflection in the big mirror hanging in the hall. His dick bobs as he walks back to Arthur’s room.  
  
So much for not walking naked around Mr. Cohen’s house.

_______


	7. Chapter 7

_______

Eames stops abruptly when he opens the door to Arthur’s room and the boy is there, almost bumping into him.  
  
“You took so long,” he says by way of explanation, then backs away until his ass is pressed against the edge of his desk. Eames supposes that the nervousness slowly starts gaining the upper hand over him. Briefly, since he really can’t allow himself to go there if he wants to control himself, he wonders what Arthur’s mind has come up with while he’s been away. He has been thinking about it, Eames can tell. He has been thinking about how Eames plans to take him and how he will feel inside him.  
  
“Not going anywhere now,” Eames says, moving closer to him.  
  
It’s obvious from Arthur’s posture that he is nervous. Eames doesn’t try to analyze why that makes him itching to show him right now what it feels like to be taken, but the boy will need more attention. He is still not fully comfortable with his nakedness, especially now since he’s not distracted by Eames’s or his own touch.  
  
Eames smiles and Arthur touches the desk next to him, sliding his fingers over the slick surface just to have something to do with his hands. For a moment, Eames considers pushing him onto it and fucking him right there but the black enormous chair behind Arthur is distracting him a lot more. He has a thing for chairs. Back at his dorm room, he almost replaced his own. It had witnessed one of his most intense jerk-off sessions on a rainy Friday afternoon and reminded him of it ever since. Unfortunately, as a student he had to choose between a new chair and food. As a compromise solution he then covered his chair in the unsexiest cloth he could come up with: tiny cute puppies.  
  
Right now, as his eyes slide over Arthur’s body, not even tiny puppies can ease the lust thumping beneath his skin. The boy’s dick, by contrast with the rest of his pale skin, is flushed red, making Eames’s mouth water. He’s hard and uncomfortable with it, but Eames will soon show him that there’s no reason for that.   
  
“Sit down,” he says.  
  
Arthur’s fingertips turn white against the dark wood of his desk and Eames thinks that maybe he shouldn’t look at him like he wants to devour him. Or speak to him like that at least. The boy lets go of the desk and sits down anyway. He’s just a few seconds of Eames’s eyes on him away from folding his hands in his lap, but then Eames shakes his head.  
  
“No,” he says and bends down. He tosses the bottle of lube on the floor because that’s where he’ll be, that’s where he’ll need it, and grabs Arthur’s knees to spread them and place them on top of the armrests. He also places Arthur’s hands on his thighs since the boy still doesn’t seem to know what to do with them.  
  
Slowly Eames rises to his feet again and looks down at Arthur spread open for him to watch and take.  
  
“Comfortable?” he asks, one eyebrow arched up.  
  
There are two spots of bright red color on Arthur’s cheeks now, but he nods anyway.  
  
“You don’t look it,” Eames says as he reaches out to stroke his face and bury his fingers in his hair. “But don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good.”  
  
Arthur takes a deep breath when Eames kneels before him. “What are you gonna do?” he asks.  
  
Eames smiles up at him and starts kissing his inner thighs, slightly regretting that he’s shaved today – he would love to see Arthur squirm at the feeling of stubble on the sensitive skin around his cock. “Guess,” he smiles.

His hands slide over Arthur’s skin and the moment Arthur wants to respond, he licks at his balls. The boy almost lifts his ass completely off the chair.  
  
“Relax,” Eames says. He pulls him down a bit so that he rests on the small of his back and he can see his hole, tiny and pink, waiting to be touched. Quickly he reaches for the lube. With his slippery fingers rubbing against Arthur’s hole he leans in to press a kiss to Arthur’s trembling lips.  
  
“I’ll have to stretch you first,” he says, “put my fingers in you, okay?”  
  
The boy nods, already panting.  
  
Eames slides back down, gently licking at his balls and working his way to the wet head of Arthur’s cock. The cry that leaves Arthur’s lips when he takes it in is almost as loud as the noise when his hand connects with the surface of the desk. He bangs the flat of his hand against it a few times and Eames watches pleased. He decides that now is a good time to push one finger in. Arthur’s face is a picture of confused pleasure, and Eames sucks him down in one go until his nose is pressed against Arthur’s pubic hair. The boy’s hips shoot up and he cries out. As he swallows around him, Eames thinks he’s distracted enough to take it and he pushes one long finger in.  
  
He moves away then, but keeps his fingers wrapped around the base of Arthur’s dick. “Alright?” he asks.  
  
The boy’s hand is now gripping the edge of the desk hard, his other arm covers his eyes. Slowly he lets it fall to his chest and opens his eyes.  
  
“Doesn’t hurt, does it?”  
  
Tentatively Arthur moves his hips. Eames dick jerks at that. He starts pulling his finger out and pushing it gently back in, and Arthur gasps.  
  
“Good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur breathes.  
  
Eames smiles and bends down again to suck at his cock. He’s amazed how Arthur seems to notice every little movement of his lips and tongue. He’s hypersensitive it seems. With two fingers sliding in and out of him, Eames sucks his cock harder, playing with the tip. Arthur cries out at that and pushes up into his mouth. It’s nothing Eames can’t take, though, and suddenly Eames is sure Arthur would have come, but he’s holding the base of his dick hard and doesn’t let him. Wickedly he even rubs against his prostate then, and Arthur’s whole body jerks up. He almost slides completely off the chair, but Eames reacts quickly and catches him.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks. His fingers have slid quite roughly out of him after all.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says, clinging to Eames’s body.  
  
“Good,” Eames says and carries him to the bed. He massages the tension out of his muscles and keeps stroking his body until Arthur skin is so sensitive that he pushes back into every little touch.  
  
“Eames,” he whines and Eames grabs his own cock, and then pushes him to his knees.  
  
“Spread your legs,” he tells him, “yeah, spread ‘em.”  
  
Arthur does as he’s told, shivering and fully expecting to feel Eames pushing inside him. What he’s absolutely not expecting is Eames’s tongue licking at his hole. Eames is sure of that. And Arthur’s reaction confirms his assumption. The boy cries out and stumbles forward or maybe he tries to scramble away from the touch, Eames is not sure which one it is. Anyhow, his head misses the wall only by an inch or two.  
  
“What?” he says and turns his head to look at Eames.  
  
Eames grins up at him. “So this wasn’t in that movie where you found out what blowing someone means?”  
  
Arthur shakes his head, unconsciously pushing his ass into Eames’s touch when his hands tighten around Arthur’s ass cheeks and pull them apart. “Can I do that to you?” Eames asks as he presses his mouth to Arthur’s ear and his cock between his ass cheeks, rubbing against him. “Can I fuck you with my tongue, I promise it’ll feel good.”

Arthur shivers in his arms. “Yes, yes, okay,” he moans, and Eames watches his hand moving down from where it has been resting against the wall to clench around the headboard of his bed.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, bringing his other hand up there as well, “hold that, hold on to it tightly.”  
  
Eames holds him firmly in place as Arthur starts to squirm against his tongue. He cries out again and again, apparently unable to stay silent. His hole clenches and then relaxes, trying to let Eames’s tongue in.  
  
“Fuck yeah,” Eames mumbles against him. He looks up at Arthur’s back which is glistening with a thin layer of sweat. The boy’s body is trembling and Eames is sure that the only reason why he hasn’t come yet is the novelty and strangeness of the whole situation. He sucks around Arthur’s hole just a bit, just enough to make him go wild but not long enough to make him come. It’s a very close thing, though.  
  
With his own dick throbbing painfully, he sits down next to Arthur, leaning against the headboard.  
  
Arthur’s head hangs between his arms. He breathes loudly and Eames looks down at his wet red cock. He’s sure if he touches it, he’ll come.  
  
“Alright?” he asks.  
  
Arthur’s body trembles with the effort to keep himself up but he nods.  
  
“Come here,” Eames says. He slicks himself up and Arthur watches with his mouth hanging open. Eames thinks he knows what’s crossing his mind but he’ll make him want it in a bit. He grabs him and pulls him to sit on his thighs. Smiling at him, he kisses him gently and licks in his mouth just to feel him squirm in his arms. His fingers move to Arthur’s ass again and he pushes two in, hard and fast. Arthur whines but his muscles give in. He’s ready.  
  
“I want you to sit on it,” Eames says, holding his cock and tapping it against Arthur’s thigh. His fingers rub against Arthur’s prostate again, and the boy whines and arches his back. God, his dick must hurt.  
  
“Do you want it?” Eames asks. “Do you want more?” He slips his fingers out, just rubs against Arthur’s hole.  
  
“Eames,” the boy whines. His eyes are heavy-lidded and dark. Eames should probably stop right now if he doesn’t want to blush whenever he looks at Mr. Cohen, but he can’t. Not when Arthur nods, biting his lip, and moves up to kneel above him.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Eames whispers. “I’ll hold it steady for you, and you just decide how much you want and slide down on it, yeah?”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur whispers back. His hands move to Eames’s shoulders, while he leans down to kiss him. Eames smiles at him, stroking his sweaty hair.  
  
“Go on then,” he says as he presses the head of his cock against Arthur’s wet hole. “And remember you can stop if it hurts.”  
  
Slowly Arthur pushes down, making Eames’s breath hitch. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.  
  
Arthur’s eyes widen when he realizes that he’s responsible for that. Spurred on, he sinks down, gasping as he feels himself stretching around the thick head of Eames’s dick.  
  
“Eames,” he cries, shaking like he’s coming already. “I – I can’t…”  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
“No, I – I,” he gasps, then suddenly his body jerks away and up.  
  
“Okay,” Eames licks his lips. “Okay, maybe we –”  
  
“You should – you should do it, s-show me,” Arthur gasps.

\------

With sweat running down his face, Eames tries to hold back. His cock is buried half-way in Arthur’s tight heat, making him pant. It’s difficult to concentrate like that, and he can’t remember a time when sex has been this slow, this caring, but he doesn’t want to rush things. He wants to make Arthur ask for more out of his own desire; he wants to fuck him open slowly and nicely so he can slam into him later and pin him down.  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Arthur moans.Maybe it's showing on his face.  
  
“Are you okay?” Eames asks. He keeps fucking him with tiny gentle thrust.  
  
“Yes, I –” Arthur’s legs are spread wide, almost pressed to his chest, but somehow he still manages to spread them a bit more, and Eames thinks that it would only be more obvious what he wants if he’d scream it at the top of his lungs. So, with his mind made up, he glides all the way in and stays there. Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head and his hands which have been scratching at Eames’s neck, drop down to the mattress to pull at the sheets.  
  
“Ahhhames…”  
  
“Good?”  
  
Arthur nods and then screams when Eames pushes back in harder. He keeps crying out and gasping, but he never asks Eames to stop. He is all tense muscle and sweaty limbs beneath Eames, breathing heavily against his mouth as Eames bends him in half to kiss him.  
  
“Jesus, you’re so fucking –” Eames whispers through gritted teeth, apparently spurring Arthur on even more for he moans louder as he hears Eames like that. He looks down where Arthur’s wet dick rests heavily on his stomach. It’s red and hard again now, having gone a bit soft when Eames has first split him open on his dick. Eames is impressed. It must hurt so much and yet Arthur keeps his hands to himself.  
  
Suddenly an idea forms in Eames’s head.  
  
He lifts Arthur off the bed, still buried inside him, and the boy yells and clings to his body. With his back pressed hard to the wall, his body goes limp instead and his eyes darken. It’s more difficult to hold him up like this, but Eames body is buzzing with adrenaline and he digs his fingers hard into hot yielding flesh.  
  
“You like that, don’t you?” Eames hisses. Arthur’s dick is brushing against his stomach with every thrust now and he trembles already, so close. Eames thinks he can feel it building up inside his body, the force which will rock his body.  
  
Arthur screams as he comes in thick spurts all over Eames’s stomach and chest, and even though it blows his mind, Eames holds his jerking body, fucks him through it and tries not to think that he’s the first one to see him like this.  
  
“Shit Arthur,” he gasps when the boy pushes himself away from the wall and down on Eames’s dick, slutty and desperate for more. His cock jerks one last time, and then he collapses against Eames, a lazy warm mess, his body wet from sweat and come, and his hair mussed up. Eames licks his lips hungrily as he sits down on the bed and holds that beautiful wreck in his hands.  
  
“Shh,” he says, stroking Arthur hair and cradling him in his arms. Arthur’s not asleep or unconscious. He’s just  _gone_ , his breath catches in his throat every now and again and shudders out of his lungs then. He’s pliant and heavy in Eames’s arms, pressing his wet face against Eames’s neck, but whenever Eames’s dick presses against his prostate his body jerks again, so Eames sits still.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks when Arthur calms down.  
  
Arthur moves away a bit to look at his face, and then frowns and looks down, clenching around Eames’s dick inside him.  
  
“You –” he gulps.  
  
Eames smiles at him and touches his face. “Oh Arthur, you thought we were done already,” he says and Arthur shudders against him.

_______


	8. Chapter 8

_______

Arthur’s body is so sensitive that Eames settles for holding him in his arms and placing small kisses along his neck until the boy starts making tiny needy noises in the back of his throat. Eames’s dick hurts inside him, hard and spitting pre-come whenever he concentrates too much on the fact that Arthur has never let anyone do this before; that he’s the first to have his tight hole clenching around his cock.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur says. His hips move slightly, as if to test the hardness inside him. He’s turned on by it, Eames can tell. Apparently, though, he still can’t handle his body’s desire for he just sits in Eames’s lap, on his cock and waits.  
  
“Do you like that?” Eames asks. He’s going to hell for this anyway, so why not make it as nasty as it can get? “Do you like feeling how hard you make me?” he whispers against his ear and Arthur’s hips jerk again.  
  
“Yeah?” Eames whispers. He doesn’t mean to slap him. He  _wants_  to, without question, but Arthur is a mess on his lap already, only gradually getting back to normal. Ironically, though, that’s what makes Eames snap. The boy is a mess for the very first time in his life, clenching around Eames’s dick hungrily, and Eames doesn’t even know what he’s doing until his palm connects loudly with one round firm ass cheek.  
  
Arthur gasps, his eyes wide as he moves away a bit to look at Eames.  
  
“Again,” he whispers, digging his fingers in the taut flesh on Eames’s chest. “Do it again.”  
  
“Oh fuck,” Eames groans. He barely resists thrusting up inside that teasing heat, and instead slaps him again and again until he needs more. Grabbing his ass cheeks he pulls him up and slams him back down to show him what he wants. Arthur moans loudly but gets the hint and starts moving up and down on the thick cock inside him. “Yeah, oh fuck yeah, you’re so good,” Eames whispers. His hands are buried in Arthur’s wet hair, brushing it away from his forehead, and desperately pulling him down to kiss him. The kiss seems to be good enough to distract Arthur. His rhythm falters until his hips move in teasing jerky motions.  
  
Desperate for more, Eames bites his lip to make him squeal, then moves away. He needs more. Fuck, he’s so hot for it.  
  
“Get up on your knees,” he says.  
  
Arthur’s voice cracks when Eames starts to thrust up into him. With his mouth hanging open he’s looming over Eames, not knowing whether to scream or talk. Eames thinks he’s really trying to say something. What comes out of his mouth, though, is a weird noise which is then interrupted by a constant cry. That shouldn’t make Eames’s hips pump faster into him, he know, but tonight he can’t control himself. He just does what he feels like, it seems. The cry only stops when Eames pushes in hard, harder than before and stays there for a moment before slowly thrusting in and out again.  
  
Arthur is wheezing above him, chest heaving.  
  
Eames kisses him gently.  
  
“Still okay?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur gasps, and even his voice sounds strange. Everything about him looks like Eames has devoured it and spit it out again, and he isn’t even done yet.  
  
Eames grins darkly up at him, and Arthur licks his lips.

_______

“Careful now,” Eames says. He sits up, and gently presses Arthur down on his back. The boy’s dick is wet and half-hard; the perfect image of adolescent appetite or, more suitable, adolescent insatiability. Eames smiles at the little moans that leave Arthur’s mouth when he wraps his fingers around his cock. Teasingly he licks the come off his hand, grinning as he feels Arthur tighten around him.  
  
He starts fucking him again, with slow languid strokes now, but Arthur still gasps beautifully at every movement. He spreads his legs wider, practically inviting Eames to look down where his slick cock slides in and out of Arthur, fucking him open. Eames’s mind stumbles through countless scenarios of him fucking Arthur, brushing over an image of Arthur coming on his fingers only which he must admit, is so appealing that he considers doing that now. He’ll surely jerk off to that sooner or later. He’ll jerk off to anything related to tonight really.  
  
“Shit,” he stutters when he imagines spreading Arthur open with a dildo and pushing it in until only the end of it is visible. Eames imagines it between Arthur’s ass cheeks, and decides that it would be a crime to not slap him when he’s full like that. Arthur would love it, Eames is sure. He would go wild with it, screaming with every slap and–  
  
Eames only realizes how hard he’s fucking him, when Arthur hides his face in his hands, then his voice is suddenly there as well and so loud that Eames wonders how he’s been able to ignore it in the first place.  
  
“Are you okay?” Eames asks. After a few more hard thrusts he realizes that Arthur won’t be able to answer if he doesn’t stop. But he looks like he’s enjoying himself. It would be cruel to stop now, right?  
  
Arthur is writhing beneath him, thrashing and tugging at the rumpled sheets like he wants to tear them to shreds. He looks like an animal with his teeth clenched tightly together and bared. His body is so wound up that Eames knows he’s close.  
  
The thing is, Eames likes to believe that he is thorough with everything he does. That’s really the only reason why he stops right then. It’s not to see Arthur’s body slumping back down on the bed and his face screwing up in agony. He grabs his cock and pulls slowly out, however, for no other reason than to watch the way it leaves Arthur’s tight little hole clenching around nothing, and wanting so much more. The scream that follows as he slides all the way back in is just something he’s hoped for, and is rewarded with now.  
  
Arthur’s hand immediately goes to his dick when Eames starts fucking him again. But there is a plan forming in Eames’s head, so he stops him.  
  
“Hold your legs for me,” he says, as if he couldn’t just press them open. As if Arthur wouldn’t bend and open for him, any way he wants. But Eames wants to ruin him for other men. He wants Arthur to compare this to everything else and find nothing quite good enough. He wants Arthur to feel him whenever he looks at his bed. He is, after all, fulfilling one of Arthur’s wet dreams. Usually, if you happen to lust after somebody who is real and willing to sleep with you, it ends in deep disappointment. Eames, however, is quite sure that this is not the case right now. He truly hopes that it’s not the case.

“Eames, Eames,” Arthur gasps.  
  
Eames is so close that he doesn’t even remember closing his eyes. When he opens them, though, Arthur’s face pushes him over the edge. It’s flushed red and sweaty. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, gasping, but his eyes –his eyes are wet and Eames doesn’t know when that has happened, but he comes so hard that his whole body jerks.  
  
“I can – I,” Arthur is mumbling when Eames reaches down and pulls his jerking cock out enough to smear come against Arthur’s hole.  
  
He looks up at Arthur’s red face.  
  
“I felt it,” he says, breathless.  
  
“Fuck,” Eames gasps, and he has to push in once more. Arthur is wet and hot for him and oh fuck. Gradually, he calms down and kneels above Arthur, impressed that the boy hasn’t jerked off yet. He takes in the sight of Arthur’s body, watching his wet hole clenching and his chest heaving.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur whines impatiently.  
  
His dick is red and wet, and he is still holding his legs up, watching Eames with wet eyes like he knows the answer to any question.  
  
“Look at you,” Eames says. “You’re a mess.”  
  
He leans closer.  
  
“Your hole is red and wet, covered in my come,” he pushes his fingers in, slowly, not thrusting, but Arthur still breathes out in relief. “Your hair,” he says and touches it with his other hand. “Your face, your whole body, your dick,” he stops and takes it in his hand, earning a soft moan from Arthur. “Can I suck you off?” he asks teasingly.  
  
He has a thing for this it seems. Arthur just had to lure him, and here he is now, wrecking him.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur whines.  
  
Eames smiles and kisses him, then takes his cock into his mouth. It doesn’t take long for Arthur to come which isn’t surprising. Eames just bobs his head a few times, deepthroating him, and that would’ve been enough, but as cruel as he is he also finger-fucks him hard and mercilessly, feeling the wetness inside him and smearing his own come everywhere. With his other hand he reaches for Arthur’s and when he puts it to his own hair Arthur’s fingers tighten in it and he comes, crying out hoarsely and sobbing when Eames doesn’t let go immediately, but swallows his come and licks him clean.  
  
He should just let him rest, Eames decides as he pulls his fingers out gently and wraps his arms around Arthur's shivering body. They lie on the bed in silence which is only interrupted by Arthur’s hitching breath.  
  
“Oh my God,” Arthur says with his eyes still closed.  
  
Eames chuckles and is about to say something when Arthur opens his eyes. He looks so tired that Eames is sure he’ll fall asleep any moment. So, instead of ruining this night with words, Eames wraps the blanket around Arthur and can’t decide whether to stay or leave. He’ll have to make him shower and change the sheets, and probably assure him that it is normal to be sore after your first time. If Arthur is anything like him and panics, that is.  
  
Eames smiles at the memory and wishes he would smoke so he could lean back and take a deep drag of his cigarette and just relax. Instead he settles for drinking water and watching Arthur, curiously waiting to see what he’ll say when he wakes up.

_______


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, this is a copy of an anonymous post on LiveJournal. I did not write it.
> 
> The original fic can be found [here](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39476763#t39476763).

Eames is squinting against the bright midday sun when he notices a movement out of the corner of his eye. He reaches for the already dirty cloth stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans to wipe the motor oil off his fingers, and shields his eyes from the sunshine as he looks up.  
  
Within the thick white frame of his opened window, Arthur stands in the bright sunlight, his chest naked and his dark curly hair ruffled and sticking up from his head at all sides. His shoulders are as bony as Eames remembers them, his skin white and soft-looking. Leisurely Eames walks to the fence between their houses and waves at him. “Morning,” he says and for a moment, as Arthur just keeps looking down at him without any readable expression on his face, the smile on Eames’s face falters.  
  
What if he’s misread Arthur’s behavior?  
  
 _I’ve seen you kissing a guy once_ , he’s said.  
  
What if Eames has gone too far?  
  
Eames stares at the boy’s blank face, but then his mind rushes back to the sweaty red-faced Arthur arching and writhing beneath him, asking him so clearly to fuck him, and suddenly as Eames feels heat spreading in his groin, he has to force himself to not concentrate too hard on these images. It’s difficult to stick to that, however, when Arthur braces his hands against the windowsill, his narrow shoulders pointing sharply to the ceiling, and leans forward. The emotions he has previously tried to hide, sweep across his face one after the other, blurred and too fast, but Eames sees arousal there despite it all, and it makes him wonder whether Arthur is hard, whether his bow-shaped mouth falls open because he presses his hips against the wall while watching Eames in his low-slung jeans and the white t-shirt.  
  
Contrary to the things the tiny voice in his head tells him, Eames gestures for Arthur to answer the door. The boy opens it before Eames even crosses the short distance between their houses, and when Eames steps inside, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darker light in the house, Arthur is leaning against the door with his dark eyes wandering hungrily over Eames’s body. Apparently Eames has been right about Arthur’s current state. The boy’s boxers are tenting at the front.  
  
Teasingly, Eames lifts an eyebrow, his lips curving upwards.  
  
“Hey,” he says.  
  
Arthur licks his lips and keeps staring. “Hi.”

_______

“How do you feel?” Eames asks. He steps forward and grabs the edge of the door to close it behind him, but Arthur seems to have forgotten that he’s still clutching the handle and he stumbles forward, bumps into Eames before remembering to let go. He laughs silently.  
  
“I’m good,” he whispers.  
  
“Yeah?” Eames doesn’t move away. He’s so close he can smell himself on Arthur. There is one part of him which is ridiculously proud of that. The other, a much smaller part, is appalled – or to be more accurate, knows he should be appalled. One more night with Arthur and Eames is sure the smaller part will be completely gone, and then there will only be Eames and, not restrained by anything, he’ll probably tell Arthur how beautiful he looks when he’s being fucked.   
  
Arthur bites his lip, his eyes dancing over Eames’s body. His ruffled hair looks so soft that Eames has to touch it. Gently he pushes it off Arthur’s forehead, tucks it behind his ear. “You should eat,” he smiles. “Come on.”  
  
Arthur doesn’t move, just keeps looking at Eames. It’s only when Eames fists his hand in his hair, gently, just to see his reaction, that Arthur swallows hard, his whole body suddenly vibrating, and when Eames lets go of him he goes to the kitchen.  
  
“Do you like pancakes?” Eames asks. He watches Arthur as he takes a seat.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says.  
  
“Okay, then I’ll make you pancakes.”  
  
Eames works at a leisurely pace because he suddenly discovers that he loves watching Arthur squirm in his seat and take deep breaths to calm himself. He even makes him eat slowly, no matter how often Arthur says that he is hungry. Strangely, though, there is something  _appealing_  about Arthur’s full mouth. And for once it has nothing to do with Eames’s dick. Eames doesn’t know why his eyes widen as he stops reminding Arthur to go slowly and lets the boy devour the food. He supposes it’s just – it’s kind of good to see him like this. There is also that one mouth-shaped bruise on Arthur’s collarbone from last night – that keeps distracting him as well.  
  
Arthur sighs after a short while, sated. He pushes the plate away and licks at his lips and fingers. “Thanks,” he says, “that was –“  
  
“Good?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Good.”  
  
They smile at each other and Eames keeps gazing at Arthur, but he doesn’t touch him, not even now as they sit together and talk about the presentation Arthur has to do in a bit. It’s obvious that the boy wants Eames to touch him. Apparently, though, he seems to think he isn’t allowed to voice his thoughts and say what he wants. Eames decides to make him say it out loud. He won’t touch him until Arthur says it.  
  
Unfortunately, Eames has overestimated himself and his plan almost breaks into pieces when he stands at the sink to rinse off Arthur’s plate and the boy walks over and presses himself between Eames’s body and the kitchen counter. He looks up at Eames with dark eyes, his lips falling open.  
  
His body language screams that he wants Eames’s hands on him, but Eames wants more. His fingers are wet when he presses them to Arthur’s neck, and the boy’s mouth opens even wider.  
  
“What do you want?” Eames asks.

\------

Arthur pants against his neck, rolling his hips and Eames is quite sure he’ll come just like this if he just lets him rub against his thigh long enough. To Arthur’s annoyance, though, he stops him, pressing his own hips against the boy’s narrow ones, and at first Arthur moans, a chocked-off little sound, but as he realizes that Eames doesn’t mean to repeat the move and just wants to hold him still, he whimpers and writhes against Eames.  
  
“What do you want?” Eames asks again, one hand in Arthur’s hair now. The other is grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter, pressed close to Arthur’s hip.  
  
Gently Arthur kisses Eames’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “Kiss me,” he whispers when Eames doesn’t respond on his own.  
  
“I’d love to,” Eames smiles and tilts Arthur’s head back, pressing their bodies even closer together to finally kiss him. The boy moans when Eames licks into his mouth, his body suddenly losing all its resistance and melting in Eames’s arms. He doesn’t even try to rub his cock against Eames anymore. Eames feels it stiffen against his thigh as he keeps kissing him and sucking on his lips.  
  
“Eames, Eames,” Arthur pants against his mouth. His fingers go suddenly claw-like as they first try to tear the t-shirt off Eames and then impatiently dig into the muscles on Eames’s back. The boy’s body is so tense that he almost heaves himself up off the ground and into Eames’s embrace. Eames groans softly. He is tempted to lift him up and have him clinging to his body with his arms and legs wrapped around him. Or maybe seat him on the kitchen counter and bite those delicious thighs before blowing him until the boy couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
Heatedly Eames deepens their kiss, his hands sliding down to grab Arthur’s hips and lift him up, when suddenly a loud horn startles them and they jerk away from each other. Eames recognizes the sound, and wordlessly walks to the kitchen window to see the Brown twins and a few other boys standing around his old car. He shakes his head, smiling, wondering whether Arthur recognizes the sound as well. He wants to ask him whether he does when he sees another unfamiliar car pulling up in the driveway to Mr. Cohen’s garage.  
  
“Hey Arthur, is that your friend?” Eames asks.  
  
Arthur walks over and looks out of the window. “Fuck,” he whines, “yes.”   
  
Eames instantly feels aversion towards the blond boy the moment he gets out of the car. He isn’t one to judge people by their looks, but the overconfident grin on that boy’s face has him immediately thinking of scenarios which show that the boy is an asshole. But of course they are all cliché-ridden and mostly fueled by Eames’s awakening dick and the fact that the boy has cockblocked them quite rudely. Eames is surely imagining that grin.  
  
“I hate him,” Arthur says. “He’s so arrogant.”  
  
Eames laughs, then tucks one curl of Arthur’s dark hair behind his ear. “Go, take a shower. I’ll tell him to wait for you.”  
  
There is another loud horn from outside and Eames ushers Arthur out of the kitchen and upstairs. The boy sighs, but finally gives up and goes, the muscles in his legs stirring as he takes two steps at a time. Eames tries not to think that Arthur is still hard and instead looks away to go and answer the door.

_______


	10. Chapter 10

______

The barbeque is not planned, but the weather is so nice that Eames’s mom decides they have to make the most out of it and puts the grill on. Eames doesn’t complain. It’s a thing he practically grew up with since his parents are big fans of barbeques. He remembers a lot of occasions when he and his siblings have joked how it must be fate’s decision that his parents live next-door to the Cohens. Everyone in the neighborhood knows about Mr. Cohen’s passion for barbeques and the famous gatherings in his garden all summer long. Eames knows from tales that in the first years of their next-door neighborhood, Mr. Cohen and his father tried to outdo each other in organizing barbeques. Thankfully, they soon noticed that they rather liked each other’s company. Maybe it was fate after all, Eames thinks, then laughs silently to himself for the banality of that thought. Eames doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in karma, though. Or at least a part of the philosophy because he’s read about the cycle of rebirths, and the escape in another life with losing your memory, sounds too good. No, he believes that you have to answer for your actions in this life. Briefly, Eames wonders how he could’ve forgotten about that last night, but then he’s distracted again, and when the first smell of grilled beef reaches his nose, his thoughts rush to the photograph on Arthur’s nightstand. The photograph which has been taken at a barbeque. The photograph the boy has jerked off to.  
  
Now, Eames has been called enough insulting things in his young life, especially during the years at high school. Sick was one of them, but until now he’s never understood it or taken it personally. Confidently, and quite maturely for that matter, he’s always labeled it as teenage close-mindedness and love for mainstream culture, especially since he hasn’t seen any other reason why broadening one's horizon and dealing with other maybe older stuff, should be called being sick.  
  
Today, though, if there were anybody to tell him he’s a sick bastard, Eames would understand. He’s sure there hasn’t been a more appropriate time to call him that because it’s not just that he’s fucked a teenage boy, and fucked him good and proper, maybe even shattered his worldview with it, but he suddenly feels arousal throbbing deep inside him at the smell of grilled meat.  
  
If he’s lucky, though, if he’s lucky then the heat inside him has more to do with Arthur standing in the kitchen and cleaning the vegetables in the sink. Eames sits in the garden, but he can see Arthur through the opened glass door and as he watches his legs and back, he can’t help thinking how Arthur must have felt a while ago, trying to concentrate for hours on the presentation he’s worked on with his classmate while at the same time feeling Eames everywhere on his body. He must still feel it and the thought –-

Eames closes his book loudly and collects the rest of the documents he’s worked on.

\------

In the kitchen Arthur talks to his mom so naturally and intimately that Eames is suddenly again reminded of all the times the boy has been over at their house. He muses he was just still a teenager after all, too busy trying to rebel to notice that.  
  
Carefully, he sneaks up on Arthur. The boy smells of vegetables, of summer. Eames wraps one arm around him and steals a few pieces of red paprika, laughing when Arthur stops talking mid-sentence and goes completely still.  
  
Eames’s mom smiles at them, unknowing what has happened the night before.  
  
“How was that presentation then?” Eames asks as he leans against the kitchen worktop and chews on the paprika. He grins when he sees that Arthur still has to fight to pull himself together.  
  
“Good,” the boy finally says. “Just, y’know, annoying. I mean Dan, not the homework, or that as well, I, yeah.”  
  
Eames smiles at him and doesn’t move away, just keeps looking at him, knowing that Arthur is hyperaware of his gaze and his closeness.  
  
“I’ve talked to Lydia,” Eames’s mom says then. She sits at the kitchen table, preparing tofu for Eames’s younger sister, who is a die-hard vegetarian for two weeks already.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur breathes. He seems relieved to concentrate on her and not on Eames. “Me too, they’ll be back tomorrow evening.”  
  
Eames’s mom gets up and carries the vegetarian plate out, leaving them alone, and Eames keeps watching Arthur’s long fingers as he chops up the vegetables into small pieces. After a short while the boy sighs and glares at Eames. “Stop it,” he whispers.  
  
“Stop what,” Eames grins.  
  
Arthur huffs, his cheeks reddening. He looks back down at his hands as he hacks one piece of paprika into pieces so tiny that it’s only red against the chopping board.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that, it reminds me of –”  
  
Arthur stops abruptly.  
  
“Of what?”  
  
Eames moves closer and their arms slide against each other with every move Arthur makes.  
  
“Tell me,” Eames grins. He flicks Arthur’s ear and the boy blushes even more and ducks his head.  
  
“Of how you –” Arthur starts to say but is unfortunately interrupted when Eames’s mom calls out for them.  
  
\------  
  
Eames still can’t take his eyes off Arthur when they all sit in the garden. He’s thought he’d feel compelled to ignore the dreamy looks Arthur keeps darting at him when they are among people. As it is, though, he just enjoys making the boy’s cheeks turn bright red, and is fascinated that he doesn’t even have to talk to him or be near him to affect him like that. He watches him as he sits in a garden chair, and as so often already, Arthur just keeps gazing back with his mouth hanging open. Eames smirks at him when the boy jerks as he awakes from his daydream. He doesn’t have to think very hard to know what’s on his mind.

\------

The barbeque doesn’t even last for half an hour when it has to be relocated indoors due to the heavy grey clouds which have gathered quickly and surprisingly, leaving the garden empty and soon very wet. Annoyed, Eames’s mom decides that they’ll wait until it stops raining, and as they’re alone again, Eames feels the tension between them growing. Arthur bites his lip and looks at the attached dining-room where Eames’s parents sit and talk quietly.  
  
Eames leans closer to Arthur, when suddenly his sister comes rushing into the dining room. “Where’s Sheila?” she asks.  
  
Sheila is their two-year-old Labrador Retriever, and Eames remembers finding her in their neighbor’s garden once when it had stormed as violently as it's doing now and the dog got frightened.  
  
“I thought she’s with you,” Eames’s mom says.  
  
“No.”  
  
“I think she’s in Mr. Connor’s garden again,” Eames says, getting up already. “I’ll go and look for her.”  
  
Outside, the rain is pattering loudly and heavily onto everything unprotected under the skies, and Eames jogs to the garden gate next-door. As he’s known it, the house is empty and dark, the curtains all drawn. The Connors are an elderly friendly couple, grey-haired and already living all by themselves in the large white house. Eames can’t remember ever seeing it empty, except for one or two weeks in early autumn every year. The Connors are nothing if not rooted to this place. They married and settled down long before Eames was born, never fond of leaving their familiar setting and home for too long. Since their youngest daughter became a mother, though, the couple has left their beloved town several times in two months, according to Eames’s mom.  
  
“Sheila,” Eames calls as he tries to peek through the thick wall of trees and hedges, wondering where the dog has squeezed through. He tries the garden gate, but finds it locked. Staring down at it, he shakes his head and laughs, then climbs over it, almost slipping on the slippery metal. The rain is weaker beneath the great old holly oak, and even the noise of it is muffled here. Eames smiles as he walks through the big garden. It never ceases to amaze him, despite the familiarity. For a moment Eames feels like he has stepped into a complete new world, just like he’d felt all those years ago when he’d seen the garden for the first time. Of course his mind and memory have played a trick on him, and the probably ordinary event of how he had discovered Mr. and Mrs. Conner’s garden, is still an adventure in his head.  
  
Sheila is barking and whining as he calls out for her again. Eames takes a few steps and sees her, around the corner, barking at the back door of the Connors house, before she runs away and squeezes through the hedges to their garden.  
  
Eames thinks he can hear his sister taking her inside. He’s about to go back, too when someone touches his arm.  
  
“Jesus,” he gasps, spinning around. “You scared me.”

\------

Arthur stands in front of him and the faint light under the big trees makes his eyes darker, hooded. His lips look wet, almost inviting Eames to move closer.   
  
And how can he say no to that?  
  
Smiling at the boy, he watches a lonely rain-drop falling on Arthur’s cheek and sliding down. The white t-shirt the boy wears is almost transparent on his shoulder where it has rained down on him, and Eames knows what’s beneath it, has seen all Arthur has to offer, or at least, all he is willing to offer now. But what’s more distracting is that Eames knows there is a mouth-shaped bruise just beneath the thin layer of the boy’s t-shirt, marking his skin like it’s never been marked before, and all Eames has to do to see it again is pull the t-shirt away just a tiny bit. He imagines he can even see a bit of it.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Arthur is pressed against the tree. Eames only realizes he’s walked him backwards to it when he hears his panting and feels it hot against his skin.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur says, breathless, making Eames wonder what he must look like, staring at him like that.  
  
The boy looks like he’s about to say something, but Eames doesn’t want that now. He’ll make him do it later if Arthur’s up for it. He’ll make him spell out for him what he wants, and he’ll make him fucking love it. Right now, though, all he wants is to devour him, to taste him.  
  
The rush of arousal and want in his body is so sudden, that Eames’s fingers shake with it. He doesn’t know what’s happening, just knows that Arthur’s breath hitches as he grabs his crotch and presses his own body against Arthur’s.  
  
“Shit,” Arthur whispers, then Eames silences him with a hard kiss, dragging his lips over Arthur’s shiny ones, before pushing his tongue eagerly into Arthur’s hot mouth. He feels the boy harden beneath his touch and kisses him harder, not giving him a chance to adjust to the new pace.  
  
There is hunger burning deep inside Eames, sweeping over him so forcefully that Eames can’t think clearly. It’s like he is stripped down to pure basic instincts and carnal desire, not caring that any moment somebody could find them here.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur whispers as Eames kisses along his neck. He seems to be aware of the danger as well, but as he tightens his grip on Eames’s arms it’s clear that despite the risk he doesn’t want this to stop. Of course, as a dick-driven teenager he’s in the position to assess the situation perfectly. But as long as neither of them cares, there is nothing stopping them.   
  
Growling at the white cotton of Arthur’s t-shirt which is still covering the bruise from last night, Eames presses them closer together, then tugs the fabric out of the way forcefully to press his fingers against it and hear Arthur gasp.

Hungrily, he drops to his knees then, and his mouth waters as he pulls the boy’s shorts and underwear down far enough to expose his half-hard dick. The dark pubic hair, highlighting the red of Arthur’s flushed cock, is teasing him, guiding him, telling him where to put his mouth.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur gasps, his fingers dig in Eames’s shoulders, and with a moan Eames sucks him wetly in. He loves how Arthur’s whole body arches off the tree and his hips try to push even further in. But Eames is hungry for it. He’s ready and relaxes his jaw. He wants to feel Arthur, wants him to fuck his mouth like he means it, and he’ll fucking make him do that soon, no matter what it’ll take. But right now, with his nose pressed to Arthur’s pubic hair and the boy’s smell mixing with the earthy distinctive smell from the wet soil and grass around them, Eames takes what he needs. He doesn’t want to stop, just needs Arthur to come and let him taste him again, so he bobs his head, deep-throating him and ignores his own hardening cock.  
  
The boy goes wild above him, alternately pressing his hands to Eames’s hair and his own face. “Shit,” he whispers, and Eames knows he won’t last long now. But that’s exactly what he wants. He covers the base of Arthur’s cock with his hand, stroking him hard, and takes a few deep breaths before he’s swallowing him down again.  
  
One hand tugs at Arthur’s balls then, and they’ve gone so tight that Eames knows he’s close. He sucks at the swollen head, wants Arthur to shoot his load where he can taste him fully, but as the boy just keeps gasping and panting above him and doesn’t come, Eames tightens his lips around him and takes him in one last time.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur cries and puts his hands in Eames’s hair, shuddering as he comes and fills Eames’s mouth with salty warmness, making him moan with it, especially as his cock jerks violently against Eames’s tongue.  
  
“Shit, Arthur,” Eames murmurs. He has his fingers wrapped tightly around Arthur’s dick, watches as it keeps coming up with just a little bit more, and he can’t help but lean down to slurp the come off the thick head.  
  
Arthur jerks above him, shudders harder and tightens his fingers in Eames’s hair, but doesn’t pull him away. He even lets Eames lick him clean.  
  
As abruptly as he has started it, Eames stops and climbs to his feet. He pulls Arthur’s shorts back up, smoothes his hands over the cotton of Arthur’s t-shirt and then presses one hand to Arthur’s heaving chest, the other against his neck, feeling his pulse race.  
  
Eames smiles and Arthur is staring at him open-mouthed, before he smiles back.  
  
“You,” he says, gesturing to Eames’s lips.  
  
Eames licks at his mouth, then brushes the back of his hand over his lips.  
  
He can’t stop grinning. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go.”

\------


	11. Chapter 11

\------

Arthur is standing at the window when Eames comes back from the bathroom where he’s replaced the bottle of lube they’ve used yesterday with a brand-new one. After all, he has to maintain the image that nothing extraordinary has happened during Mr. and Mrs. Cohen’s absence. Otherwise he wouldn’t go back there and allow the images in his head to come back. But the prospect of sex helps him again to ignore the part of him which is slightly disgusted by those images. You see, he’s not naïve, he just doesn’t need to know what’s going on in other people’s bedrooms and he certainly doesn’t want evidence that confirms that unconscious, repressed knowledge. Thankfully, his defense mechanism is intact and pushes those thoughts aside to let him concentrate on Arthur’s lean body instead.  
  
“Lousy weather,” Eames says, thinking Arthur is watching the heavy raindrops pounding against his window.  
  
“What’s wrong with your car?” Arthur asks instead, absentmindedly.  
  
“Well,” Eames says as he comes to stand next to him, “I’d say Summer has pretty much killed it with her way of driving,” he laughs. “You know she’s been using it after me.”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says, staring at the car, “I know.” He sounds so jealous that Eames can’t hide his grin. What he’s exactly jealous of, Eames isn’t sure, but the blush spreading across Arthur’s cheeks when he realizes what he’s done, is delicious anyway.  
  
“I mean, I.”  
  
Eames smiles at him and pushes a few strands of hair from his forehead. “Come here,” he says.  
  
They lie down on Arthur’s bed, Eames on his side, pulling the boy closer to him with one arm around his waist and pressing his nose to his neck. Suddenly Arthur’s stomach rumbles.  
  
“Hungry?” Eames asks. “Maybe we should go back and eat.” He kisses Arthur’s cheek and is about to get up again when the boy shakes his head.  
  
“No,” he whispers, “let’s stay here.”  
  
Eames smiles as he leans up on his elbow. “Okay,” he says. “What do you wanna do?”  
  
Arthur looks at Eames for a long moment. The faint light seeping through the window makes his skin look grey and dances beautifully in his eyes. Lazily, he lets his arms flop on the pillow above his head and stretches his body.  
  
Eames’s mouth goes dry a little.  
  
The lust he’s been feeling before is still throbbing beneath his skin, a dulled reminder of that blow job, as if he doesn’t still feel Arthur on his tongue. Briefly, Eames wonders how he’s been able to quench the lust so as not to walk around with a hard-on. But right now, as he feels it flaring up again, that doesn’t matter.

\------

“I want,” Arthur says. His hands move up to Eames’s face, stroking lightly before pulling him down for a kiss. The boy’s lips are warm and soft beneath Eames’s, and he kisses him gently, little pecks which again make Eames wonder whether that was all Arthur’s wanted before Eames has taken his virginity.  
  
However, the boy holds his face in his hands, his fingers warm and sure, even stroking over Eames’s cheek now and again when he’s not too busy with his mouth and remembers to do it. It’s assuring to see that he wants more, but, ironically, as Eames’s coaxes his mouth open and licks into his mouth, Arthur’s hands drop to his chest to clench and pull at his t-shirt. His mouth goes slack for a moment, before he catches himself and tries to kiss Eames back. Eager now, Eames deepens the kiss. His arm tightens around Arthur’s waist, pressing them together, pressing the boy’s erection against his hip, and to feel that he’s already hard for him again, makes Eames moan loudly. Heatedly, he slips his thigh between Arthur’s and  _presses down_. The boy stops kissing back then. He melts into Eames’s arms, panting against his cheek. Eames is fascinated how easily he can make him gasp for air, make him go mad with want.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
In turn Arthur’s yielding body makes him want to tear the boy’s clothes off and touch him until he cannot think anymore. He wants to fuck Arthur on the kitchen table, the couch in the living room, or anywhere really, so that all the boy can think of when he walks around his house will be Eames dick.  
  
Eames smiles at the thought. He kisses his way over Arthur’s neck and sucks at his white soft skin, unable to stop himself even though he knows that he’ll leave marks on the unblemished skin. But the boy gasps so beautifully when he does it that Eames can’t resist.  
  
Moaning silently, Arthur slowly but surely falls apart beneath Eames. His eyes are closed, his lips red and swollen, and the previously lazy movement of his hips, is now relentless as he tries to rub his erection harder against Eames’s thigh.  
  
Eames lets him for a while because he discovers that he loves seeing him like this; so close to get what he wants and yet not close enough. He presses their foreheads together, gently kissing his lips now and again, and pushes his shorts up to knead his strong thighs. A sudden surge of want makes him duck his head and bite the soft skin there. He sinks his teeth in the strong muscles until Arthur is moaning again.  
  
“You like this,” Eames smiles.  
  
Arthur’s chest is heaving as he sits up. Gently he takes Eames’s face in his hands again and kisses his brow, his cheek, his mouth.  
  
“Yes,” he whispers, then stops touching him and instead pulls his own t-shirt off. His chest is flushed, his skin bruised where Eames has sucked at his neck, but otherwise it is a soft white invitation for Eames to mark it.  
  
Eames swallows hard as Arthur leans back on his hands.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Eames says.  
  
For a moment Arthur looks like he’s about to get up and run away, but then he licks his lips and the insecurity is gone.  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” he says.

\------


	12. Chapter 12

\------

Eames nearly comes right then.  
  
It’s not like he hasn’t heard that sentence before; he’s been lucky to have people say it to him a few times in his young life, but coming from Arthur – Arthur who blushes when Eames  _looks_  at him too long – it is mind-blowing. The boy’s confidence doesn’t last long, however, and not for the first time this weekend, Eames wonders what he must look like, staring at him like he wants to devour him. Most importantly, though, he doesn’t seem to scare him off, but instead seems to make him hot for it.  
  
Or why would Arthur blush and bite his lip otherwise?  
  
Eames clears his throat and frowns. “Are you nervous?”  
  
“No,” Arthur shakes his head, then slowly lies back down, almost making a show of it. Spread out beneath him, he again reminds Eames that he’s the first one to see him like this, and the thought makes Eames’s skin itch and his dick throb. He tries to ignore the way his chest tightens as well because he surely can't tell him that he loves seeing him like this, right?  
  
Gently, Eames pulls Arthur’s shorts and underwear off. The boy’s dick rests heavily against his stomach, but Eames ignores it and instead runs his hands over Arthur’s chest, where his heart is thumping strongly.  
  
“You sure you’re not nervous?” Eames asks.  
  
Arthur sighs. “I’m fine.”  
  
He spreads his legs a bit and Eames forgets what they’ve been talking about.  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers. Unable to resist, he grabs Arthur’s knees and pulls his legs open, exposing him even more, and like he’s expected, Arthur’s hand drops insecurely to his cock to hold it softly, but Eames is quick to grab his wrist and press it into the pillow above his head.  
  
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he says before he gently slips his fingers between Arthur’s ass cheeks and watches as they rub against the red skin there.  
  
“Does it hurt?” he asks. He looks up to see Arthur’s eyes squeezed together, but they snap open when Eames’s tightens his grip on one knee.  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
“No.” Arthur breathes. “I – just, just a little.”  
  
“And you still want me to fuck you?”  
  
Eames doesn’t wait for an answer. He can’t. He just growls at Arthur, growls at the want clearly visible in Arthur’s face, and he’s sure he bruises their lips as he kisses him. His fingers keep stroking Arthur’s hole, and gently one fingertip presses in.  
  
“I’m gonna,” he says, the fingers of his other hand tightening in Arthur’s curly hair. “I’m –” he tries again as he presses their foreheads together and keeps rubbing his fingers against Arthur’s hole. He’s breathless suddenly, so turned on that it spills out of him. “Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for days, want to fuck you until you cry, until you can’t think anymore,” he whispers in Arthur’s ear and feels Arthur’s hole clench around his fingertip.  
  
“Yesyes.”

\------

Eames lets go of Arthur and the boy doesn’t move, just holds his legs up, pressed to his chest and breathes deeply. “Where are you –” he whispers.  
  
“Not going anywhere, love,” Eames says, taking his clothes off.  
  
Arthur smiles at him, then bites his lip when Eames pulls his boxers off, his dick springing free, hard and red.  
  
“Do you want it?” Eames asks, following Arthur’s gaze.  
  
The boy swallows hard. “Yes.”  
  
Teasingly, Eames stays out of reach and grabs himself to pull the foreskin back and expose the dark-red of the swollen head. He grins as Arthur lick his lips.  
  
“Where’s the lube?”  
  
Eagerly, Arthur sits up and opens the top drawer of his bedside locker, holding the lube up for Eames.  
  
“Good,” Eames smiles, his cock twitching in his hand as Arthur lies back down and spreads his legs. He wants it so much, it’s driving Eames crazy. Carelessly, he drops the bottle of lube on Arthur’s bed and goes to lick at his pink little hole instead. The boy immediately shutters to pieces beneath Eames, his muscles straining before he relaxes a bit into it, but his voice cracks the moment Eames re-wets his tongue and licks his hole before pushing the tip of his tongue in. He cries out, shivering already, and Eames’s dick throbs at how quickly he can make him mad with want.  
  
“Do you like this?” he asks pointlessly, looking down where his spit glistens on the boy’s hole, where his little hole shivers under Eames’s gaze.  
  
“Ye-yes.”  
  
It’s the gasp that makes Eames snap. Hungrily, he buries his face between Arthur’s cheeks, wiggling his tongue in and licking across Arthur’s hole. He laughs when Arthur pushes his hips up for more, and then almost moans when the boy wraps his arms around his own legs and pushes himself up until most of his weight is supported by either Eames’s hands around his hips or his shoulders.  
  
“Fuck,” Eames gasps and bites down on Arthur’s smooth skin.  
  
Arthur gasps beneath him, his face red and shiny already. Eames watches his heavy-lidded eyes as he slowly lets his spit dribble down where he stretches Arthur’s hole open. The boy watches back, moaning as Eames’s spit makes him even wetter. That’s all it takes to have Eames licking into him again. Greedy to have him shaking apart, Eames sucks and licks at him, tongue-fucking him until Arthur’s chest is heaving and there’s sweat rolling down the side of his face. Eames doesn’t mean to make him come like this. One really sick part of him wants to make Arthur cry with it or scrabble away from the touch. But as he pushes the tip of his tongue wetly in again, his nose accidently bumps hard against Arthur’s full balls and the boy screams, his whole body shuddering and his hands dropping down to pull at the sheets beneath them.  
  
Eames’s cock jerks, but he holds Arthur up, his tongue still licking at Arthur’s shivering hole as he watches fascinated how the boy paints his stomach and chest with come. His dick keeps jerking and Eames sucks at his hole to make it spit just a bit more come.  
  
“Fuck,” he says as he slowly lowers Arthur’s legs.

Quickly he reaches for the lube and while Arthur still writhes beneath him, he pushes two slippery fingers inside him.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur whines, his back arching off the bed.  
  
“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” Eames says and kisses Arthur until the boy tears his mouth away to gasp for air. Eames can’t stop kissing him now it seems, and he licks his way over the marks on Arthur’s neck and down to his chest, trying to resist the burning desire to lick the boy’s come off since he wants him covered in it, but he fails miserably.  
  
He takes his time, and teasingly licks off every little bit of come then while at the same time rubbing at Arthur’s prostate. Therefore it’s no surprise really, that by the time Eames has licked him clean, Arthur’s dick is hardening again. Eames wonders whether he could make him come without touching his cock again, just rubbing at his prostate until the boy can’t help himself. He has a good time trying and nearly comes himself when Arthur starts shaking and shivering like he’s already come or is just a fraction of a second away from it. Eames remembers reading about men reaching climax just through prostate massage, but Arthur looks so wrecked, breathing erratically and jerking every time Eames’s fingers touch his prostate that Eames is almost afraid for him.  
  
“Arthur, Arthur,” he whispers as the boy takes a deep breath, shaking with it, then exhales loudly. He keeps doing that, like he was about to drown and can breathe now again, and Eames wraps his other hand around his own cock, tugging roughly.  
  
“What – I – what?” Arthur gasps, covering his face with his hands, then pulling at his own hair since he can't seem to decide what to do with his hands. The next moment he drops them to the sheets and pulls until his knuckles turn white.  
  
Eames watches wide-eyed, his dick hardening even more in his hand, but he lets go of himself and leans down, deciding that it’s too much.  
  
Arthur comes the moment Eames’s lips touch the wet head of his cock. He pushes his hips up into Eames’s touch, sobbing loudly and clenching around Eames’s fingers inside him, and just like Eames has expected it, he then tries to move away.  
  
Eames lets him this time, pulls his fingers free and jerks himself off, using Arthur's come to make it easier. He tries not to come because of Arthur’s wet eyes, but really that’s what pushes him over the edge, together with Arthur’s still irregular, hitching breathing and the come on his stomach.  
  
He’s a total mess; his hair damp, his face and chest red, and all Eames needs to come is a few rough strokes and then he’s covering Arthur's skin with come.

\------


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, this is a copy of an anonymous post on LiveJournal. I did not write it.
> 
> The original fic can be found [here](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39476763#t39476763).

 

“Can I take a picture of you?” Arthur blurts, his voice scratchy from all the screaming he’s done a few moments ago. Eames can feel that he’s still shaking, and his hard breathing is loud in the otherwise silent room.  
  
Lazily, Eames tugs at his cock a few more times, panting as the last traces of tension leave his body. When he opens his eyes he sees Arthur watching him intently. “Arthur,” he says. “Are you okay?”  
  
Arthur’s shivering and clinging to him. “Yes.”  
  
“Calm down, okay?” Eames says. He reaches for his t-shirt and wipes his hands with it, then pushes his fingers through Arthur’s damp hair as he gently covers the boy’s body with his own. They’re both sticky with come and sweat, but for now, Eames needs this as much as Arthur.  
  
Gently he strokes Arthur’s face, pushes strands of hair off his forehead and kisses him open-mouthed. Arthur gasps against his lips when Eames wipes a single tear away.  
  
“It’s okay,” Eames says.  
  
“Fuck, what –” Arthur says, and pushes Eames hands away to rub at his face, confused and frowning. He looks at his hand and the wetness there like he’s never seen either before, but Eames quickly kisses his cheek and smiles at him.  
  
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks.  
  
Arthur gapes at him for a moment, looking like he’s wondering whether Eames is serious or not. He drops his hand and raises one eyebrow, then his already red cheeks turn crimson.  
  
“I think that was very obvious,” he whispers and grins.  
  
Eames grins back. “Why are you blushing?”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“Oh you are,” Eames smiles, “but there’s no reason for that.” He stops smiling then because he is serious about this, and he wants Arthur to know and believe him. “You have to believe me,” he says, “all those sounds – god, they’re hot!”  
  
“Yeah okay,” Arthur says, looking deeply into Eames’s eyes.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Eames smiles and finally slides off Arthur’s body, but the boy immediately turns on his side, like they’re glued together, sticking together like two parts of one thing. They lie on their sides then, facing each other.  
  
“We should probably…” Eames says, gesturing at the mess on their skin, but Arthur shakes his head.  
  
“Not yet,” he whispers, and Eames can’t say no when Arthur’s body suddenly starts shivering. So instead of getting up he reaches for Arthur’s blanket and covers them both, pulling the boy closer. Arthur smiles up at him, his head resting on Eames’s shoulder, one arm around Eames’s waist.  
  
“I’ll have to change the sheets anyway,” he says.  
  
Eames laughs silently. “Yeah, you should do that,” he says, “before your parents come back, y’know,” he adds.  
  
Arthur nods.  
  
“What will your mom think?” Eames teases. “Changing the bedclothes twice in three days? Oh my god, Arthur!”  
  
Arthur grins and shakes his head. “I didn’t do that yesterday,” he confesses, “they smelt … good.”  
  
Suddenly he’s blushing again and Eames stares at him.  
  
“They smelt of you. They smelt good.”  
  
“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames says, “you can’t say stuff like that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“’Cos I fucked you in them last night, you know what that does to my dick when you say stuff like that?” He laughs and Arthur smiles up at him, then his eyes go dark, reminding Eames how seductive Arthur can be without even knowing it.  
  
“Yes,” the boy whispers, and Eames is stuck between crushing their lips together again, because fuck, he  _is_  tempted, and wondering how Arthur can even think of asking for more after he's practically fallen apart in Eames's arm.  
  
“Arthur –”  
  
The silence is suddenly interrupted by a familiar noise. It makes Eames jump despite the fact that he knows it’s his own cellphone. Arthur sighs and Eames quickly reaches for it.

“Hi, yes, not yet, about an hour or so, yeah, a virus or something.”  
  
Arthur beams at him as he realizes that Eames is making up an excuse.  
  
“Who was it?” he asks when Eames ends the call.  
  
“Summer, asking us to go over and eat,” Eames says.  
  
“Mhh,” Arthur says and for a while they lie silently next to each other. Eames is woken from his half-sleep by Arthur moving next to him. When he opens his eyes he sees Arthur reaching for his own cellphone.  
  
“Can I take a picture of you?” he asks.  
  
Eames smiles at him as he props himself up on one elbow. Jokingly he looks at Arthur with what he thinks are his bedroom eyes, voice low and husky as he says: “How do you want me?” His fingers trail over his own naked chest and belly, down to his hip to push the blanket just a little away. But the boy licks his lip and swallows hard.  
  
“Just – on the bed,” he says.  
  
Eames grins and lies back down, waiting for Arthur to take the picture, then his inner weaker self, which he’s not able to suppress around the boy it seems, gains the upper hand once more and makes him push Arthur down on his back, quick and surprising.  
  
“How about this?” he asks, looming above Arthur on his hands and knees. “You could imagine I’m fucking you when you look at this one,” he whispers against Arthur’s ear, making him sigh. Slowly he rolls his hips against Arthur’s and the boy’s fingers shake a little as he takes another picture.  
  
“Or maybe –”  
  
Eames leans down and licks a wet trail over Arthur’s chest, over his stomach and down until his head is resting on Arthur’s lower stomach. He can smell Arthur there; the musky scent making his head spin a little. Slowly he opens his eyes to look at the way Arthur bites his lip, his chest rising and falling smoothly.  
  
“Or –”  
  
Arthur is wriggling impatiently in little tiny movements as Eames slowly tugs the blanket down. Eames feels heat in his groin; Arthur’s hunger for more is turning him on. He loves to see him so insatiable. Quickly, the boy places his cellphone back on his nightstand, his fingers grabbing the edge when Eames pulls the blanket completely away and rubs his cheek against Arthur’s dick. Smiling at the tension he sees in Arthur’s fingers, Eames holds Arthur's soft cock with careful fingers and places tiny wet kisses on the warm skin.  
  
When he looks up he sees that Arthur’s eyes are closed and his breathing is deep and even.  
  
“You like this, don’t you?” he asks.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur whispers.  
  
“Look at me,” Eames says.  
  
His own cock hardens when the boy opens his dark eyes, the want clearly visible on his face. For a moment Eames considers making him ask for it, but he’s not that strong. He knows himself and he knows that he won’t be able to wait. He doesn’t want to, he’s not in the mood, so the moment Arthur opens his eyes, the moment he looks at him, Eames opens his mouth and takes him in, without breaking eye-contact.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur gasps. “Fuck.”

\------

Eames’s mouth waters as he feels the flesh in his mouth hardening. He tightens his fingers, sliding his wet mouth over Arthur dick and when he moves off, it glistens temptingly, covered in spit.  
  
“Mmm,” Eames says, wetting his lips. “Fuck yes.”  
  
He spits on Arthur’s dick, wets it thoroughly and strokes him roughly.  
  
“Fuck, I – I can’t,” Arthur gasps, closing his eyes again. But his body is eager to demonstrate that he can. He gets harder by the minute, and Eames is quick to remove the blanket which is wrapped around their legs and doesn’t let them move freely.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he whispers when Arthur spreads his legs. “There you go.” His dick is mouth-watering, curving towards his stomach and red, and for a crazy little moment, all Eames wants to do is bury his face between Arthur’s thighs and just stay there, or something.  
  
There are thousand ideas forming in Eames hazy mind, but one, so sharp and overwhelming, makes his fingers shake a little and his head spin. Clumsily he slides off the bed and pulls Arthur up to sit at the edge. He wets his lips, sucks at the boy’s hard dick, pushing the tip of his tongue against the slit just to hear him moan and bobs his head a few times. With his nose pressed to Arthur’s belly, Eames swallows around him and Arthur clutches at his hair, head thrown back and mouth opened wide.  
  
“Ah fuck, Eames,” he gasps.  
  
Eames moves off, fingers stroking lazily as he smiles up at Arthur.  
  
“Brace yourself,” he says. He lets go of Arthur, then places his hands on the bed. No matter how much he loves to have Arthur’s fingers in his hair, he needs this. “I want you to fuck my mouth, okay?” he says, fingers stroking over the smooth skin on Arthur’s thighs.  
  
Arthur’s lower lip trembles. “I – I don’t want that, I want you to –”  
  
“I know,” Eames says, “and I will.” He grabs his own cock and squeezes. “I’ll fuck you as hard as you want, but right now I want you to fuck my mouth, come on.”  
  
Arthur bites his lip, then slowly pushes into Eames’s mouth the moment Eames wraps his lips around the leaking head.  
  
Eames nods and relaxes his jaw. He loses his patience, though, when Arthur doesn’t give him more than that. The boy seems content with Eames’s tongue playing with his dickhead but Eames wants more. He grabs his hips and pulls him up, leaving him leaning on his elbows and moaning loudly. With satisfaction he sees Arthur’s toes curling against the carpet. The boy seems to get it then. He slowly starts thrusting into Eames’s mouth, dragging his cock over Eames’s eager tongue. Gradually, he picks up pace and force, until his legs are trembling and his gasps turn more erratic.  
  
Eames realizes he has to stop if he wants to keep his promise and another one of his ideas.  
  
Gently he stops Arthur’s hips and drags his tongue over the boy’s dick once again. Arthur collapses on the bed, his arms giving out, and Eames smiles at him as he leans down.  
  
“That was good,” he says, licking into Arthur’s mouth.  
  
Arthur moans, body arching off the bed and towards Eames’s.  
  
“Come on,” Eames says, climbing back on the bed and leaning against the headboard, “sit on my lap.”  
  
He cups his own balls, holds the thick shaft, and Arthur goes immediately.

\------


	14. Chapter 14

\------

The room is soon filled with squelchy wet sounds where Eames’s fingers fuck into Arthur, stretching him wide.  
  
“Fuck, you’re still so wet,” Eames says and closes his eyes for a moment.  
  
Above him, grasping his shoulders and panting loudly, Arthur starts thrusting his hips slowly as Eames’s fingers stop pushing in and just rest inside him.  
  
“Yeah,” Eames whispers, licking his lips. “Take what you need.”  
  
His cock jerks as Arthur starts rolling his hips more confidently then, and the action makes him lose his patience and drive his fingers harder in without warning, finger-fucking the boy like he means it. Arthur falls forward, a loud cry leaving his O-shaped mouth, head pressed to Eames’s shoulder and fingers digging into Eames’s flesh. Unconsciously, or maybe not, he pushes his ass out, taking what Eames has to give.  
  
“Fuck,” he gasps, not moving, holding still for Eames to thrust his fingers in and out again and again.  
  
“God, that –” Eames whispers. “Move,” he says and pulls his fingers carefully out. Arthur doesn’t seem to hear him, too busy panting and pressing his body against Eames’s.  
  
“Come on,” Eames says. He pushes him down on his back, spreads his legs and slicks himself up. Arthur’s eyes go wide at that. He watches in clearly visible anticipation, waiting to get what he’s asking for. What he wants.  
  
Eames repeats that sentence in his head a few times. Instead of stopping his hands from shaking, it has the opposite effect, though.  
  
“You’ll tell me if it hurts,” Eames says, holding himself in one hand as he rubs the thick swollen head of his cock against Arthur’s wet hole. Everything’s so fucking slippery. “It’s a bit red,” he mumbles, fingers replacing his dick and Arthur huffs.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Arthur nods and Eames watches his face and eyes intently while pressing in. Too soon, though, he feels Arthur tensing up around the tip of his cock. “Shh, relax, let me in, I know you want it, but you have to relax first.” Arthur fists the sheets. “I know,” Eames repeats, but actually he has no idea what he’s saying. “Let me, yeah?”  
  
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shuddering breath, only gradually relaxing.  
  
“Does it hurt, should I stop?”  
  
“I don’t want you to stop,” Arthur says. “It hurts a little.”  
  
Eames closes his eyes for a moment. Thankfully he can control himself enough to not push in and bury himself in Arthur’s heat with one thrust like he wants to.  
  
“We could stop and I’ll –”  
  
“No _please_ ,” Arthur says, sweaty face screwed up, “We won’t be able t-to do this tomorrow, not here, so d-don’t stop.”  
  
“Greedy little Arthur,” Eames whispers and then the resistance melts away, and Arthur moans loudly and pulls at the sheets as he feels Eames’s sliding all the way in. His eyes roll back in his head, sweaty throat exposed; he’s a picture of surrender, but Eames still waits for him to adjust to the feeling.  
  
“How do you want it?” Eames asks after a moment, hips moving in tiny gentle thrusts which make the boy pant nonetheless. “Look at me.”

\------

“I – I – like this,” Arthur whispers, eyes at half-mast. “Like I’m –”  
  
Eames doesn’t let him finish the sentence. He leans down to suck on his tongue, fingers digging into the flesh on his ass, gripping the sharp hipbone tightly. He doesn’t mean to increase the pace or put his weight behind the thrusts – the slow movement of Arthur’s tight hole over his bare cock is nice enough, if you could call something nice that has your blood rushing through your veins of course – but his skin feels like it’s burning up and Arthur’s mouth is wet and red, hanging open as he pants beneath him, obviously wanting more. He looks small, tiny and Eames’s mind makes up the worst scenarios involving a wall or any surface really, where he could press the boy against and fuck him good and proper. His dick pulsates at those thoughts and just like that he’s pinning Arthur’s delicate wrists to the rumpled sheets, into the mattress and slams inside him.  
  
The boy shouts, surprised, and his voice goes husky in the full-on screaming that accompanies Eames’s movements from then on. Eames thinks he should stop or slow down, but he  _can’t_.  
  
“Gonna think about this when you look at those pictures, hmm?” he pants into Arthur’s red face.  
  
A high-pitched sound leaves Arthur’s mouth. “Yes,” he whines, his body wet where it slides against Eames’s. He’s twisting like a dying animal but Eames doesn’t give in, doesn’t let him move.  
  
“Oh yes,” he gasps. He lets go of Arthur’s hands, and instantly the boy pushes his nails into the muscles on Eames’s shoulders. Eames knows he’ll leave marks, but that’s fine. He gets Arthur stretching around his cock for him, so he will find a way to explain the marks if he fails to hide them.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur moans, and his voice is so full of need that it sweeps away the last of Eames’s restrain and leaves him trembling. He bites at Arthur’s red lips, pushes his legs to rest on his shoulders and pounds into him, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the room.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur cries again, and Eames realizes that he tries to warn him. He stops just in time. Arthur’s dick is flushed and wet at the purple tip, smearing pre-come on his belly. The boy keeps wringing his fingers on Eames’s neck and grinding his teeth to distract himself.  
  
Eames thinks if he moves or touches his dick he’ll come.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur says, drawing the word out. He exhales loudly, and Eames waits, panting as well and feeling sweat rolling down his face.  
  
“Okay?” he asks after a few long moments. His fingers brush over Arthur’s sweaty face and Arthur shakes his head.  
  
Eames’s face falls. “Did I hurt you?”  
  
“No,” Arthur bites his lip. “I’m so close.”  
  
Eames’s hips jerk, and Arthur moans, fingers pulling at the sheets. “Eames!”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Eames forces himself to stay still. “Balance it out,” he says, “think of architecture or something.”  
  
Arthur can’t even smile. He tries but fails, and surely if Eames were the decent guy he was before this weekend that wouldn’t make his cock throb, but as it is, it drives him mad. “Funny,” Arthur says, “guess what all those impressive skyscrapers will make me think of.”  
  
Eames laughs and leans down to kiss along Arthur’s neck. Gradually, as he feels Arthur relaxing a little, he starts thrusting his hips again, gently and slowly, intent on making the boy hold on as long as he can.  
  
“Okay now?” he asks.  
  
Arthur chews on his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he whispers. His breath is pushed out of him when Eames leans down, pressing his knees to his ears. He kisses him, arms shaking a little.  
  
“I want you on your hands and knees,” he whispers against Arthur’s mouth, watching his eye-lids flutter.

“Okay,” Arthur says. He shivers and Eames holds himself low on his dick as he pulls out, afraid he’ll come right then. He doesn’t let go for a few moments; the sight in front of him too arousing to risk that. Arthur goes on his knees for him, legs spread so wide that Eames can see where he’s wet and ready for him. “Fuck,” he says and slowly pushes back in. Beneath him, Arthur’s body twists and shivers until Eames wraps his hands around his hips and just holds him still.  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers, “take it.”  
  
One of his hands flies up to Arthur’s neck then, pressing him down on his elbows, and the way the boy just goes and spreads his legs even more makes Eames fuck into him harder. He can’t look away, can’t hear anything but Arthur’s cries.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur yells, muscles tensed and voice breaking, “I can’t,” he whispers and his arms give out then, causing his sweaty face to press into the mattress. His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth hanging open, and one hand works frantically between his legs.  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says and quickly pulls his hand away. He stops fucking him, and holds his wrists pinned to the bed instead. “Arthur,” he says again as the boy groans out in frustration. His body is tight-drawn, back shifting as he takes deep shuddering breaths.  
  
Eames leans down. “Just a little more,” he whispers against his ear. Arthur whines. His wrists are sweaty in Eames’s hands, just like the rest of him, all the way down his body to where he’s pulsing around Eames’s cock as if trying to fight his body’s reaction.  
  
Eames bites his lip. He looks down at Arthur’s trembling thighs, at the way his knees press into the mattress. “Can you hold yourself up for a bit longer,” he asks.  
  
A weird sound leaves Arthur’s mouth and Eames can’t even wait for an answer. His hips push the boy closer to the edge of his bed, and elicit beautiful moans from his throat, until it’s too much again.  
  
“I can’t,” Arthur says, voice husky.  
  
Frenziedly he tries to tug his hand free and Eames, so close himself, lets him this time. He even wraps his own hand around Arthur’s and guides it until the boy’s shuddering violently and crying out. Eames feels his orgasm around his cock. His eyes burn, but he can’t look away. Not when Arthur collapses before him, pinned to the bed by Eames’s cock, and panting into the mattress when he doesn't cry out or moan. His body is tight around Eames’s dick, strangling him almost, and Eames looks down at the come on Arthur’s fingers as they dig into the mattress, the wetness of his stretched hole, his  _face_ , and he can’t.  
  
He groans and comes, body shuddering once as he fills the boy up. His breathing is the only thing he hears for a moment. It’s too loud and too quick, but slowly he also hears whimpers, and when he opens his eyes Arthur is splayed out on his stomach beneath him, body still shivering now and again, and he is still so very tight around Eames’s dick.

\------

“That was –” Eames says. Slowly he pulls out, and drops of come stain Arthur’s hole. Eames swears and rubs his gradually softening dick against Arthur’s flexing hole, smearing his come over the sensitive red skin. He swallows hard, greedy.  
  
“Ah fuck,” Arthur whines. His body jerks, but he doesn’t have the energy to move away and just lets Eames spread him open with his thumbs and push his tongue against the loose fluttering muscles of his hole. “Eames,” he whines.  
  
He’s trembling by the time Eames is satisfied and lies down next to him, exhaling loudly.  
  
“Well that was good,” he says.  
  
Arthur smiles gently but doesn’t move.  
  
“Are you okay?” Eames asks, stroking his back.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says. “I just – I.” He smiles and Eames smiles back, fingers brushing the damp hair off Arthur’s forehead.  
  
“Are you up to come and have dinner now?” he asks.  
  
“No, fuck no.”  
  
Eames laughs. “Okay, so how about I tell them you’re too busy with homework and just bring you dinner to your room?”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur smiles. Eames kisses his cheek.  
  
\------  
  
“Eames,” Arthur growls.  
  
The first thing Eames thinks of is that he’s never heard Arthur say his name like that. The second is that Arthur is finally awake. He’s been on his way to wake him up, but as it seems he doesn’t need to do that now. Arthur is standing in the doorway of the front door, scowling at Eames as he takes the last few steps and stands in front of him. The scowl almost disappears then and Arthur’s mouth snaps open.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” Eames asks, smiling at him.  
  
Arthur seems distracted, frowns again, then nods. “Yes.”  
  
Eames is about to walk away when Arthur clears his throat. “Eames, why did you turn off my alarm?” he asks. “I’ll miss my first lesson now.”  
  
“No you won’t,” Eames says. “Come on.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You ready to go?”  
  
“No, I – what?”  
  
“Go and take your stuff, okay, I’ll drive you.”  
  
Arthur only realizes what Eames has meant when he sees the car waiting for him. He’s practically run out of the house, but suddenly as he sees the car and Eames sitting inside, he stops and just stares. Slowly, and only after Eames gestures for him to do so, he walks over.  
  
“What?” he says.  
  
Eames is suddenly so delighted that he’s managed to get up at six and finally fix his old car that he just grins at Arthur.  
  
“Come on,” he says, snapping out of it. “Get in.”  
  
Arthur smiles, showing his dimples and does as he’s told.

 

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, this is a copy of an anonymous post found on LiveJournal [here](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39476763#t39476763). I am posting it here in an effort to make sure it doesn't end up lost in a purge, or otherwise vanish from existence.
> 
>  
> 
> If this fic is yours - you are the original anonymous author - no attempt to usurp your creativity is being made. I am simply trying to preserve one of the hottest A/E stories I've ever read.


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